


John Egbert's Rollicking Adventure of Personal Discovery and Self Proclaimed Heterosexuality

by cacophonyGilded



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternative title: Oh my god it's 2015 and I'm still writing johnkat, Extremely Religious!John, F/M, Flamboyantly Gay!Karkat, Humanstuck, M/M, Megabitch!Vriska, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacophonyGilded/pseuds/cacophonyGilded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert, Prospit Creek Community Church's most promising young student and man of the lord extraordinaire, did NOT mean for this to happen. All he wanted to do was work at his father's bakery, kiss Vriska Serket, and go to church 3 times a week. But as fate can be a stone cold bitch, that's not in the cards, and just weeks after realizing his dream, he finds himself falling head over heels for his angry, obscene customer, and to make matters worse, his girlfriend is pregnant. Everything is terrible and nothing is sacred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Have To Make One More Cake With The Words “Shake That Ass” Written On It, You’re Going To Explode

Your name is John Egbert and you’re really _not_ trying to be a homophobe or anything, honest, but every time you see your new customer, Karkat Vantas, you’re just compelled to--what? Ask him to visit your church on Sunday? Beg him to pretty please with a cherry on top act a little more heterosexual? Fall down on your hands and knees and plead for him to fall with open arms into the loving embrace of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?

 

Okay, that last one actually sounds kinda like a biblical porno opening, so scratch that.

 

You’re just a little… uncomfortable, okay?

 

It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so aggressive about it. If he wasn’t always wearing those rainbow buttons, or shirts, (or, on one regrettably unforgettable occasion, that headband with the glowing phrase “I suck dicks!” lit up above his head, a _very detailed_ penis hanging off a chain from both his earrings) then you wouldn’t have a problem at all! You just have to wonder why those darned gays always had to just… shove their sexualities in your face.

 

This was one of the most prominent topics on your mind as you swapped spit and swallowed tongue with your longtime girlfriend, Vriska Serket, behind the counter of your dad’s cake shop, where you worked. You guys were getting pretty into it, which you guess is the reason why you didn’t hear Karkat walk up to you, or the first time that he not-so-subtly coughed for your attention. Or the second. Or the tenth.

 

In fact, you only noticed he was there once he (rather angrily, you thought--it couldn’t have been that long!) raised his voice.

 

“Are you breeders quite finished, or do I need to take my pretty ass to another cake shop, one that’s at least .001% more deserving of my hard earned fucking _money_?”

 

Stricken with unfathomable embarrassment, you slowly removed your tongue from Vriska’s mouth and, blushing madly, tried to straighten your hair and uniform into something halfway respectable.

 

“Um, just a moment, sir!” You squeaked, shoving Vriska out from behind the counter and giving her the dopey, lovestruck look that you hoped said “Sorry! Work comes first but you’re still the hottest girl in the room!” but honestly probably conveyed more of a “Oh my god if we were married I would do you missionary style so hard!” kind of thing.

 

Satisfied with your work in showing your completely hot girlfriend and everyone else in the room how whipped you were, you turned back around to your customer--

 

\--And recoiled in thinly veiled disgust.

 

Karkat Vantas was wearing possibly the most godless outfit you had ever seen. It kinda resembled what Sandy wore at the end of Grease (you know--the thing that Olivia Newton John had to be _sewn into_ ) except it was bright pink, and the shirt was defaced with the words “bottom bitch,” written in cursive rhinestones.

 

Neither the fact that your jaw just dropped so low that you were definitely collecting flies nor the milk curdling sound of Vriska’s catty laughter could bring you to look away. Or move.

 

That was, until the man’s (and you used the term loosely) angry scowl and thick eyebrows clouded over and he seemed about ready to yell at you. Again.

 

“Are you done sweeping me over with your putrid oculars? I came here to buy a cake, not get visually undressed by the pimply pastry boy. You know, I’m taken, _FYI_.”

 

Oh, you knew. The first time he had come into your shop, about four months back, he had ordered a cake that said “Sorry I came in your eye again <3” At first, you thought it was a prank and high fived him for it after laughing for about ten minutes. He then made it very clear that he _wasn’t_ joking and that he had some (very rude) things to say about your bakery and how he wanted to talk to a “goddamn manager.” (He did.)

 

Since then, he had come back 13 separate times, each time complaining about the “terrible customer service,” but begrudgingly complementing the cakes themselves, and ordering equally profane messages on your sweet, Christian baked cakes. You wept a single tear when you had to ice the message “You make my dick hard fuck me in the ass” on a superb vanilla and lemon masterpiece.

 

Right now, you were of half a mind to fall to the ground, to grovel before this man, begging him to please, please come with you to church on Sunday--heck, you would gladly go get your father, the minister of your congregation, and stage an emergency confession right now. Or an exorcism. Whichever came first.

 

But really, after considering it, you realized that would probably be bad for business, and anyway, you couldn’t really imagine walking in the doors of the Prospit Creek Community Service with Mr. “Bottom Bitch” in tow. He was probably a satanist or something. So, resisting the urge to cross yourself, you smiled and spoke.

 

“How may I help you today… sir?”

 

“I need a cake.”

 

“No duh. What obscene words do you want me to write on it this time? ‘Baby slut?’ ‘Find my prostate?’ ‘Jesus is not an important figure in my life?’ ”

 

If looks could kill, you would be rotting 6 feet underground. Actually, you would have been dead about four months ago. As it was, you were treated to an especially withering glare and a full frontal view of your favorite customer’s middle finger.

 

“Fuck you. And no, I want a goddamn red velvet cake, cream cheese icing, plain and simple. Even the peanut-brained, hormone addled likes of _you_ should be able to figure that out. And all I want you to write on my cake is…” he hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

 

This startled you, for multiple reasons. Never before had he gotten something so normal… and you didn’t think he had it in him to be so sincere.

 

“Oh, is something wrong?” You asked, sympathy lacing your voice. In the back of your mind, you were already forming a plan--the best person to turn to after an argument with a loved one was the good lord himself, and maybe you could convince Karkat of the same… there was hope for his soul yet!

 

“See, I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.” He said defensively. The words hung in the air, but noticeably without any of his usual malice. You felt the sudden urge inside you to give the guy a big hug.

 

But no. Didn’t want to give him any ideas. You weren’t like that! Not that there was anything wrong with being like that of course, but... You were not a homosexual.

 

Boys just… weren’t for you. Plus, you had read the Bible inside and out no less than 34 separate times, and you lived solely by its rules.

 

“It’s okay, dude, you can talk about it. Did something happen with your--your boyfriend?”

He looked you over, eyes cold and metallic grey. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I had come here for a fucking therapist. Here I was thinking that this was a cake shop, but now I realize that the asinine sign outside did not in fact say “Egbert’s Cakes” because this is a that’s what you sell, but because anyone who would come to get a cake here obviously needs serious help. I’ve seen the fucking light! Plus,” he paused to give you the middle finger once again, which you weren’t _really_ sure you even deserved that time. “I never told you that this cake was for him, so stop being an assumptious jackass.”

 

“I’ve been making your weird, sexual cakes for the past four months, dude. I kinda figured that he was the only one you bought them for. You can tell me what’s going down.”

 

“...Touche. Still, it’s none of your business, you nosy shitrag. I came here for a cake, not a guest appearance on Dr. Phil.”

 

You nodded amiably. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry I asked, okay? The cake will be 29.99, and you can pay now or when you pick it up on Tuesday. You know the drill, right?”

 

“I’ll give you my cash later, then.”

 

You nodded, and he turned to go, but then hesitated. “Um. Wait.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Alright, I know this is like, the shittiest move ever, and I’m actually sorry about this, but is there any way that I could, maybe... Pay you to make this cake priority number one? Like, get-this-shit-done-before-we-go-home, priority number one?”

 

“We don’t really--”

 

“I know, I know. Look, sorry I asked, alright?” He turned away to leave again, pink leather pants squeaking as he walked. (Holy cow, it was loud, too--even with your tongue exploring the deepest chasms of your sexy girlfriend’s mouth, you were… kind of surprised you didn’t hear that.)

 

Before he got to the door, you called out “Wait!,” not really knowing what had come over you. Maybe it was the deep emotional bond that only 4 months of baking someone’s sexual pasties for them can forge, but you had a sudden change of heart. He turned back around, and you dropped your voice to a whisper.

 

“Look, I can tell this is a big deal, so… I’ll see what I can do. No extra charge. But don’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t pull this kind of stunt every day.”

 

If you didn’t know that Karkat wasn’t capable of the expression, you would have sworn that a brief smile passed over his face. He nodded in way of thanks (at least, you assumed that’s what he meant) and walked over to one of the shiny metal tables, bending over and pulling out the chair in a matter that was entirely more sensuous than anyone sitting down actually had the right to be. When the freak show was over, Karkat quietly gave you an appraising onceover, followed by another brief, businesslike nod.

 

“You know what, Egbert? Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

 

With that, he leaned back in his chair (how he managed that in those pants without ripping something was an eternal source of wonder for you, even to this day) and pulled out his phone, leaving you to ask yourself what the H-E-double hockey sticks you had gotten yourself into. All you knew for certain?

  
It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no excuse for making this. My schedule for posting is basically one chapter a week, every Tuesday. Any questions/death threats should be directed towards my tumblr (singing-fursuit-javert). Thanks for reading!


	2. You Thought That You Knew That Permeating Aroma of Sin From Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a stretch of radio silence on Karkat's end, John finds a surprising face at his church.

After spending no less than four hours laboring over the cake and trying to get all of your other work done at the same time, you delivered it into the relieved, grateful hands of your unconventional customer, who insisted on paying double even though you assured him that it was no real trouble.

 

That was the last you had seen of the man in over 3 weeks. No more gay pride t-shirts. No more disturbingly detailed penises. No more cakes with “hit it from the back” scrawled on them in hot pink icing.

 

You were kind of surprised to realize that you sorta missed him.

 

Late at night, you tossed and turned, wondering if he was okay--did he save his relationship with the infamous “I’m Sorry” cake? Would he ever return to buy the next blasphemously erotic iced good in the series? Had you seen the last of his hot pink booty shorts?

 

You found yourself missing him, and it wasn’t just your wallet talking.

 

And so it was that you stayed up half the night on Saturday and slept through your alarm (twice!) the next morning--all for some customer that hated your guts and made you write things that caused Jesus to weep.

 

You were a whole _ten minutes_ late for the early sermon. You had to walk in as the choir was singing their hymns. It as basically the worst moment of your entire life--even Vriska, sitting in the eighth row back, as she usually did, turned to snicker at you. It was the grace of the Lord that stopped you from breaking out in tears--the fat, hot tears of a man, of course.

 

Nevertheless, you took your seat next to Vriska and silently watched as your father led the congregation in prayer, then introduced a new guest preacher, Kankri Vantas.

 

Kankri Vantas.

 

_Vantas?_

 

The name was familiar, but despite your thoughts from the night before, you couldn’t quite pin it down--that is, you couldn’t pin it down until the single most unholy person you had encountered in your miserable, Betty Crocker flavored life walked onto the stage.

 

Dang, you hardly recognized him without the dicks dangling from his earlobes.

 

But no. It couldn’t be--he wasn’t--no!

 

That couldn’t be him. For one thing, this guy’s voice was higher, and more nasally. For another, the name was wrong--what reason would Karkat (Kankri?) have to flat out lie about his name, either to you or--heaven forbid--the church itself?

 

This could not be the same guy you knew.

 

That point became increasingly clear when the man on the stage droned on about the seven deadly sins with a pointedly judgemental outlook on lust, which you knew for a fact _Karkat_ had no problem with.

 

And man, could this guy talk! Vriska fell asleep, drooling on your shoulder, at around ten minutes in, and after about forty minutes, the most devout person you knew (yourself, of course) was fighting to stay awake, and it was a fight that you were losing. You weren’t sure how long it was until your father took the microphone, giving a thinly veiled ‘get the hell off my stage’ look, ending the morning mass swiftly and generously.

 

You couldn’t get to your feet fast enough.

 

Actually, you might have stood up a little too fast--Vriska, who had yet to wake up, slammed bodily into the unforgiving polished wooden surface of the church pew.

 

“Oh! Sorry, babe--”

 

She flipped you the bird (in a church!) and stood up, dusting herself off and storming away, wordlessly canceling her standing invitation to join you and your father for post-church KFC.

 

For the second time that day, you felt just a little bit like crying.

 

When you found your father in the main lobby, he was deep in conversation with Kankri who, you noticed, looked way too much like Karkat for it to be a coincidence, even up close.

 

“--And so that is why I believe, sir, that staying celibate, even through marriage, if you so choose to embark in that particular endeavor, is the path that God chose for us to follow.”

 

“An interesting point. But what about procreation? Leading children to see the light of the Lord is just as important, if not more so, as following His words yourself. Oh, speaking of which--this here is my boy, John.”

 

“It’s, er, nice to meet you.”

 

Kankri stuck out his hand, which you shook tentatively, only to find he had a sweaty, limp handshake.

 

_Oh dear lord give you strength._

 

“And you--John, was it? May I ask your opinion on fornification?”

 

Holy moly, was this guy for real? You formulated your answer awkwardly, looking up at the ceiling (and symbolically, at the good lord) so that you didn’t have to see either your father’s face or Kankri’s when you answered.

 

“I believe that it is a healthy activity that couples can take part in, if both parties consent--only after marriage, of course.”

 

“Interesting. My brother shares the same opinion--oh, here he is now. Karkat, come over here! There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

 

A man in an oddly stitched black turtleneck turned around, and when he saw you, he wore what you could only assume was a mirror of your current expression.

 

“You?”

 

“...You!”

 

Kankri looked confused. “Do you two… know each other?”

 

“Yes,” you said, talking slowly, trying to work out how perplexed you were. “Karkat ordered all those gross cakes from my dad’s shop.”

 

“Gross?” Asked your dad (who, you figured, must have never seen the messages put into the cakes--you didn’t have the heart to tell him the purpose behind all of those delicious monstrosities). “I’d hardly use the word ‘gross’ in the same sentence as Egbert’s Cakes.”

 

“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Egbert, your cakes were fuc--I mean, they were superb.” A tight out of place smile that looked more like a grimace passed over his face. “Can I just pull John here aside for a moment? We’ll be right back.”

 

“Go right ahead.” Your father waved his hand, immediately restarting the previous conversation with Kankri as you led his brother into an unused classroom at the back of the church. A large paper cutout of Moses smiled down at you, one of his eyes coming unglued and drooping slightly. You made it your goal to not look at that any more than you absolutely, positively had to.

 

When you were relatively assured of your solitude, you turned to Karkat. “Um, dude?” you said “No offense, but you are literally the last person that I would ever expect to see here. I mean. I think you got the words “blow jobs with Jesus” on a cake once. What gives?”

 

Up this close to him, you could see that the oddly stitched nature of his sweater came from the fact that he was evidently wearing it inside out, and you could see a faint outline of what you could only assume was the reason that he wasn’t wearing it normally; the vague shape of a “69” staring at you like the devil might look at an oncoming victim. Swallowing hard and strengthening your resolve, you forced yourself to look at his face instead.

 

He seemed to struggle internally, debating, you assumed, whether to give you an answer or to punch you in the jaw. Luckily for you and your mandibles, he chose the former.

 

“My family is just like yours, Johnny fucknuts. They don’t know about my, uh, sexuality, and if you want to keep your goddamn head connected to your body, then you’re not going to be the one to out me.”

 

“You… kept that from them? Don’t you feel bad? I tell my dad everything.”

 

“Not as bad as I’d feel if they knew. God, you don’t understand, do you? They’d literally disown me. They’re never going to accept that part of me, because my dad isn’t Mr. Smiles and Acceptance. For fuck’s sake, they still ask me when Terezi and I are getting married. Could you imagine?”

 

You stopped for a second, the name ringing a bell. “...Terezi Serket?”

 

“You know…? You know what, never mind, that’s _SO_ not the point. The point is, no, I didn’t tell them, because I kind of value my life and safety. Happy?”

 

You stopped cold. You had never once thought--a Christian couldn’t turn away their own family member for something so small, could they? You knew your father would accept you no matter who you loved… Wouldn’t he?

 

“I’m sorry. I won’t tell them.”

 

“You better fucking not.” He turned towards the door, but something was still bothering you.

 

“Wait!” You called. He stopped, turning quizzically. “You--where have you been? You haven’t gotten one of your uncomfortable, smutty cakes in weeks!”

 

He hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe I finally got tired of seeing you and Vriska Fucking Serket tongue wrestling while I make my purchases, and achieved the good sense to take my business elsewhere after months of questing for it. John, you have no idea how many levels I gained in my quest for an accepting atmosphere. Something like all the levels, is what. All of them, John.”

 

You paused, not knowing whether or not to ask him why and how he knew your girlfriend (and her family?) in the first place. By the way he said their names, you decided against it.

 

“Nah, I doubt it. You love our cakes waaaaay too much for that, bro! I’m totally onto you.”

 

“Okay. Whatever. I just haven’t needed a cake. Some stuff happened--and don’t you dare ask about it Egbert, you nosy prick, cause it’s none of your business--so I haven’t been back.”

 

An awkward silence filled the air, tension growing thick enough that you could cut it like so many smutty cakes. He wouldn’t meet your eye, choosing instead to look at the ground, the ceiling, the vaguely threatening droopy Moses; anywhere but at you. You couldn’t think of something to say that didn’t feel like an invasion of his privacy.

 

Finally, when you could no longer take the silence, you motioned towards the door, asking “Shall we--?”

 

Before you got the whole question out of your mouth, he pushed by you, nodding.

 

You found your respective family members in the foyer where you left then, and parted ways without meeting each other’s eyes. The only words you spoke after that were to your father--“Hey dad, I’ll meet you at the KFC in an hour”--before you left to find your car and call your girlfriend, probably to beg her forgiveness.

  
What was it that Karkat had said, again? Oh yeah--Vriska- _Fucking_ -Serket. A good description of her if there ever was one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, Terezi and Vriska are sisters in this.


	3. John Egbert and the Unfortunate Hetalia References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat has been living in his own filth for like, 5 weeks.  
> Also his movie references are really cliche.

Two weeks, 17 cakes, and three hot makeout sessions with Vriska later, (groveling at her feet did wonders in terms of her forgiving you) and the last you had heard of Karkat Vantas was that chance encounter at the church.

 

It was just as well. Getting too involved in his life would probably be a fast track to Hell.

 

Still, sometimes, in the dark of the night, as your body propelled you to sleep, you wondered about him. In the morning, in that time before night and morning, you found yourself coming into the waking world with bleary thoughts of tight lycra bodysuits on your mind.

 

And in the afternoons, every time the door opened, you turned, half expecting it to be Karkat, wearing inappropriate garments and ordering crude messages on your beautiful cakes as if nothing had changed. You wouldn’t admit to yourself (not out loud, at least) that you thought about him like Javert thought about Jean Valjean, but it was admittedly a rather close thing.

 

What you didn’t expect, though, was what came about at around 7:34 pm one Thursday night, when you were busily baking a double decker German chocolate cake for some local business corporate meeting.

 

The phone on the wall rang. A rare enough occurrence in and of itself; while you did occasionally take orders by call, the people who actually utilized this were few and far between. Most preferred to give the orders in person.

 

Nevertheless, you answered, putting the cake batter into the oven and picking up the phone in one (really awesome, if you did say so yourself) fluid motion.

 

“Hello, you’ve reached Egbert & Son’s bakery, so good we’ll have you in _tiers_ , how may I help you?”

 

“Is this John?”

 

That voice. You knew that voice.

 

“Karkat?! How did you get this number?”

 

“It’s on your website, you ignoramus.”

 

You blushed. “Oh--right. Sorry. Uh, do you want a cake?”

 

“This--look, this isn’t about your dumb cakes. I’m the universe’s biggest fuckup, okay? And--god, I ran out of people to talk to. It’s like, once I lost him, I lost all my friends, and fuck, I hit rock bottom. I’m calling the guy who makes cakes.”

 

Concerned, you sat down, preparing for a long feelings jam. On some level, you were actually pretty flattered that he thought that he could call and talk to you. Even if you were, apparently, ‘rock bottom.’

 

“Dude, are you… crying? What’s going on?”

 

There was a sound on the other end of the line that sounded suspiciously like a deep, ragged sob, followed up by a slurping noise-was he drinking?--before he returned to the phone proper.

 

“No, I’m not crying, fuckwit. I’m just,” there was another long pause that you could only assume to be him taking a long drink from whatever he was knocking back, “pretty fucking inebriated alright? Fuck, I’m pathetic. I should just go--you’ve got better things to do, right? I’ll just--”

 

“Karkat, stop right there. You’re not pathetic.” You weren’t actually that sure if you had the clearance to tell him what he was or not, given that you had only really talked to him while he was ordering his cake, plus that one time in the church, but darned if you weren’t already doing it anyway. “Just--tell me what’s going on. Please?”

 

“Fine.” He paused (another drink?) and said, voice slurred by the alcohol, “Remember when I had you make that ‘sorry’ cake as a pitiful last-ditch effort to save my putrid, toxic relationship?”

 

“Uh, sure?”

 

“I was dating this guy Dave. He was--pretty fucking beautiful, okay? And it was going goddamn _super_ , except we got in arguments all the time. I thought of them as friendly goddamn banter, but he was actually hurt by them, or something, and he finally had enough of my abusive ass, and he fucking left. I haven’t even heard from him since then. He didn’t even come by to get his shit.”

 

You counted backwards in your head. “Wait, hasn’t it been like… 5 weeks? Was it really that bad?”

 

“He blocked my number. I’ve asked everyone--Rose, Kanaya, even,” he paused, gulped, continued “Terezi, but they’re all ignoring me too, apparently. I have no idea how I fucked up this badly, and--and--”

 

He was definitely crying now. You were about three seconds from freaking the heck out.

 

“Um… I don’t know what to tell you, but I can tell you’re really upset. Do you…” what were you doing what were you doing what were you doing what were you-- “want me to come over there?”

 

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Those words flew between your lips as if they were shit flying off the handle. Those words did a neat backflip out of your mouth, sticking the landing directly in the phone receiver. Karkat, the drunken judge at this meet of word gymnastics, gave you an 11 out of 10. It was only fair.

 

You tried to rationalize your blurted mistake. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t a good Christian be there for a friend in a time of need--even if that ‘friend’ was a loud, angry blasphemer that you had hitherto thought of as a customer, and not even a friendly one at that?

 

Neither you nor he made a sound, as if saying something would break some unspoken contract of silence. Finally, he tentatively said “...Really?”

 

His voice was small and disappointed, as if preemptively anticipating your denial, your words of “wait, sorry, I’ve got work right now.” Not wanting to be the asshole that you really wanted to be, you nodded, then, realizing about five seconds too late that you were talking over a telephone, you spoke.

 

“Uh, duh? You don’t sound too good, buddy, and no one should have to be alone during something like this. Even if it’s been--what is it? 5 weeks? It’s the least I could do.”

 

He took an audible swig from his bottle and grunted in affirmation. “John, were you dropped on your head much as a baby?”

 

“I--huh? What kind of question is that?”

 

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re so fucking nice. Seriously--is it a mental thing? Do you wake up every morning and look at your stupid buckteeth in your cracked, grimy mirror and think to yourself, ‘I’m going to be irrationally nice to the point where random passerbys will spontaneously combust today’? Are you like, Canadian? What gives?”

 

You giggled. “Give me your adress, you big doof. I’ll leave in ten minutes.”

 

It was close enough to the end of your shift, you figured, that it didn’t really matter. You could work overtime tomorrow to make up for it!

 

It was with this line of logic that you found yourself grabbing your coat and heading for the door, leaving no less than three cakes to burn, forgotten in the oven.

 

Admittedly, this was not your finest moment.

  
  
  


Karkat’s house, on the outside, looked fairly normal. There was a little rainbow flag on a pole flying by the sidewalk (you had expected nothing less), but there was a general lack of giant blow up penises obstructing your way to the door. You found yourself a little disappointed. The thought that he lived in a normal suburban house with normal suburban hedges hadn’t even crossed your mind.

 

Knocking tentatively at the door, you experienced a brief moment of panic, wondering what in God’s name you thought that you were doing here, and was it too late to run for your car? But no, before you could sprint back to your Subaru, probably knocking over that lone pride flag in a thematically comical way, the door swung opened, and you saw Karkat for the first time since church.

 

He was dressed in sweatpants and a white and red baseball style shirt with a record symbol in the center that looked around two sizes too small for him. His hair was in a tragic disarray, and there were dark circles under his eyes. However, none of this was nearly as concerning as the absolutely horrific stench that emanated from his house, and, more accurately, Karkat himself.

 

“Dude, did Dave dump you, or did you kill him and bury him in the floorboards? It smells like someone _died_ in here!”

 

It was the wrong thing to say. On some level, you knew this. But it also _had_ to be said. Seriously, he reeked--the unholy lovechild of beer and BO made its home on his skin, and impolite though it may have been, if you didn’t hold your nose, you were _seriously_ going to ralph.

 

Karkat slammed the door in your face, just about an inch from your nose. You gave it a few seconds before you knocked again, and though there was a long, weary sigh on the other side of the door, he evidently thought better of leaving his savior out in the cold and windy outdoors, and opened the door once again. You hadn’t moved. Having already made the plunge, you were in this for the long haul. One might even say you were feeling pretty darned matrimonial all of a sudden.

 

“I know, alright? I’ve pretty much been doing this since last night, so yeah, it’s fucking rank. Do you want to leave?” His aggressions might have meant a lot more, you thought, if he wasn’t swaying dangerously just with the effort of standing upright.

 

“What about work?”

 

He grimaced, taking another long drink from his bottle, only to find out that it was empty. Throwing it aside in disgust, Karkat gruffly said “I quit.”

 

“What!” Every second that you were there was a second that you wished that you weren’t. What did you even say to something like that? “Dude, why?”

 

“The manager called me in yesterday, told me that he knew I was going through a hard time, or whatever bullshit that they have to say to make it sound like they comprehend the concept of empathy, but that if I didn’t get my act together and stop being ‘senselessly rude’ to customers, that he was going to have to let me go. Well, I told that shithead that he could go fuck himself, and that he should mind his own goddamn business, oh, and that by the way, he wasn’t letting go of _shit_ , because I quit. So I’m out of a job. Who would have fucking thought?”

 

You gaped at him. After a moment of wrestling with your conscience, you threw yourself forwards wordlessly, wrapping your arms around the man in a hug. You barely even cared if he thought you were coming onto him or something. He was just so--so freaking sad and even downright  _pitiful_. If anyone needed a hug, it was him.

 

Only after what seemed like a few minutes of completely platonic bro-hugs and a virtual assault on your sense of smell did you push him back a little, inviting yourself into his house and shutting the door behind you.

 

“First thing’s first. I hope you know how totally cliched that little scene you pulled at your work is, dude. That’s in like, every movie. Ever. It’s like, if you want to make a movie, and someone in it has a job, they’re going to pull that exact scene, line for line. It’s like… theatrical law, I think.”

 

He flipped you the bird. “Funny. I totally missed that in Les Miserables. And RENT? Hm. I guess I’m really not paying enough attention when I watch these things.”

 

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just made like, the two gayest possible references, and get to the second thing. Dude. Go take a shower. Take like, ten showers, and put on clean clothes, because you smell really nasty, Karkat. So gross.”

 

He gave you one last view of his favorite finger as he trudged off in the direction of what you could only assume to be his shower.

 

This left you alone in his house.

 

Dang it, that probably could have been planned better.

 

Fighting the urge to leave while you had the chance, to escape back to the comparatively clean and inviting Christian interior of your precious Subaru, you started picking up empty alcohol receptacles and other trash, filling the bag you had procured from his pantry until it was overflowing, then starting another. It occurred to you that you were probably being a tad over familiar, but at the same time, what you were doing seemed right. Like you were helping someone. At any rate, it was better than being alone in his house, looking at his flooring and awaiting death.

 

After about thirty minutes of this routine, you were rejoined by Karkat, his bare feet padding softly across the floor of his kitchen. He still looked a little under the influence, but otherwise much cleaner and healthier. There is much to be said for the power of a shower.

“What the fuck, asslamp--are you touching my shit?”

 

You froze. “I was--I assumed that the mess could be--you invited me here--”

 

He looked at you for a long second, blinking slowly, as if trying to call to mind a memory that was just out of his grasp.

 

“Ah. Relax, shitbrain. I was... joking with you.” He gained his footing in the conversation again, and to prove this, served you a nice, steaming bowl of criticism. “Are you so stone cold ignorant that you can’t tell when someone’s joking, too?”

 

“Only when the jokester in question has absolutely no concept of humor,” you shot back, grinning as you dropped another empty bottle into the black bag.

 

He picked up a half empty chip bag and hesitated. “Uh. Look, John. I really do appreciate you being here. It means a lot. Seriously.”

 

You patted him awkwardly on the arm. “No problem, buddy. What are friends for?”

 

“Are we friends?”

 

You shrugged. “You reached out to me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

He nodded slowly. “Okay, friends. This could work.”

 

You smiled at him. “We don’t have to kiss, right?”

 

“As if.”

 

In the movie of your life, this was the part where some exceedingly shitty song played, something along the lines of “Walking on Sunshine,” droning on while you and Karkat exchanged meaningful bro-glances and smiled as you picked up his house. In real life, neither of you knew what to say next, so you wordlessly, soundtrack-lessly started cleaning again. It went a lot quicker when he helped, putting things in their place and tossing you the trash.

 

The two of you fell into a rhythm--pick up, put in the bag, repeat. Neither of you talked at first, but it was a more or less comfortable silence, the kind that you fell into around friends you had known for years. When you did start talking, it was little things at first--“Where do you want this?”--but evolved, almost without you realizing it, to a real conversation (practically the first one that the two of you had ever had), you telling anecdotes from your church or your job, him laughing and telling you how stupid you were, but in a way that you knew held no weight. His stories were told in an engaging, thoughtful way, and you found yourself hanging onto every last word. If he had someone to edit out the vast qualities of the word ‘fuck’ that he threw in, as well as the occasional slip into Spanish when he got especially excited about a topic (apparently, he had grown up in Argentina, only moving to America after his 13th birthday), he could be a really great author.

 

At last, at around 3 am, the two of you found yourselves… well, if not completely finished with the clean up project, then at least too exhausted to do a single second of additional housework. The house actually looked (and smelled) halfway decent--a huge step from how you had found it.

 

Casual domesticity aside, you were just about 100% exhausted in a way you had never before experienced.

 

It was when you were preparing to leave that Karkat did the strangest thing, a feat so great that you wished, as a rare bird watcher might when finding the sight of his life, only to realize that he was out of film, that you might have a lifetime supply of cameras, capturing the scene at every angle just so that you could never forget it. In other words--he smiled at you. Tiny and tired, but a real, genuine smile, gracing his features as he raised a hand to see you off. “Thanks for helping me out, John. I owe you one.”

 

You waved back, a tad more enthusiastic. “Don’t mention it. Friends don’t owe friends! We should do this again sometimes… Just, uh, if you don’t mind, with less BO next time? Maybe?”

 

His smile dropped, and he returned your quip with a finger you had become quite accustomed to. “I changed my mind. Get the fuck out.”

 

With that, you left the house laughing raucously, driving home as quickly as feasibly possible, lest your night be ended by an unfortunate drive off the road in the (very real) chance that you fell asleep behind the wheel. Your little twin bed back at home, with its thin covers and ratty pillows, had never seemed so inviting, and the second that your body hit its cold frame,  you were out like a light.

  
That night, you dreamt of Karkat’s smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof, I almost didn't make the deadline I set today, sorry! Hope you enjoyed. I've been doing a lot of editing on this fic recently so I hope by the time I get it all posted it's a lot better than my first draft was.


	4. Admittedly, You Needed To Step Up Your One-Liner Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan's tragically small penis ruins multiple lives.

Where night had been sweet and welcoming, morning came all too fast; bitter and painful. You might have known that after such a perfect day, a terrible one was sure to follow. Having never been particularly lucky, fate proved herself time and time again to be a stone cold bitch, more than willing to kick you in the groin for the simple infraction of having a particularly good day.

This point was illustrated at the buttcrack of dawn, the chorus of “Blue Eyes are Sensitive to the Light” (your personalized ringtone for Vriska) blaring in your ear only three hours after you had finally, _finally_ fallen to sleep.

Thus was the beginning of your day off.

You rolled your sleep deprived form over, groaning into your pillow as you groped blindly for your phone. After a few seconds of clumsily knocking everything from pens to your desk lamp from your bedside table, you finally wrapped your hand around your (really rad) ghostbusters phonecase. Clicking accept was a burden. Holding the phone up to your ear was near impossible. All you really wanted in this world was to roll over and go back to sleep, and if it was any other clever personalized ringtone waking you from your slumber, you would… but you couldn’t ignore Vriska.

Nobody ignored Vriska. At least, nobody without a death wish.

Had the personalized ringtone and caller ID left you any room for doubt as to who was calling you, the shrill voice griping at you before you even said hello squashed it all.

Vriska- _fucking_ -Serket.

“--And John, if you don’t say something--are you _ignoring_ me? I’ve called you like _eiiiiiiiighty_ times, and when you finally pick up, you’re ignoring me? Honestly John, you’re so lucky I even bother with--”

“Vriska, hey, I’m here! I’m here! It’s 6 am if you hadn’t noticed. What do you need?”

She paused. “I don’t know how to say this but--oh, who am I kidding. Yes I do! We have to break up.”

_Now_ you were awake. While usually quite frigid, her words just hit you like a bucket of ice water.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, don’t play the victim, John. That’s pathetic. It’s just not working out. It’s not you, it’s me, and all that jazz. What do you need to hear?”

She sounded vaguely impatient. You were imagining her dressed as a 50’s housewife in curlers, a blue bathrobe, and some sort of facial mask, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on her desk. Normally, this image would be pretty hilarious but in this case just made you feel sort of anxious and panick-y.

You were suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry. Darn it, you were crying. “I don’t--Vriska, can we at least talk about this?”

“We did. Just now. _Goodbye_ , John.”

“No, wait--” You heard her sigh, a long suffering noise that hissed and crackled in the phone receiver pressed to your ear, but gave you the slight reassurance that at least she hadn’t hung up. “I’m coming over there. Are you home?”

“What! No, John, don’t embarrass yourself--”

You hung up.

Barely lucid enough to put on one shoe, grab your keys, and get the fuck out of your cramped apartment, you started your short journey.

The road to Vriska’s had never seemed longer. Or less friendly. All you wanted to do was cry, but in a supreme act of willpower that some people (*cough* Vriska *cough) might have thought impossible for you, you forced your hands on the wheel, your eyes on the road, and your thoughts anywhere but Vriska, at least until you go there. Surprisingly (or maybe not so much) the first place they wandered to was to Karkat.

Karkat, who had smiled at you when you finally stumbled out to your car last night. Karkat, who had been so comfortable to talk to. Prickly, angry Karkat, who seemed so funny, so cute, even when he was flipping you off, or telling you to fuck yourself…

Cute?

Realizing what you had been thinking, you nearly drove off the road in a supreme act of “no homo”, swerving out of your lane momentarily and then swerving back, turning at a nearly 90 degree angle as to not miss your exit to the neighborhood that your (ex?)girlfriend took up residence in.

Majestic.

You would deal with your rogue thoughts later, or better yet, not at all. For now, it was time to suffer.

There was no use in putting Vriska off any longer--her house, suburban and tacky, loomed before you. You drove yourself here, and now it was time to face the music.

Somebody knocked on her door (was that you?) and suddenly, you were very conscious of nervous jitters shaking just below the surface. And of course, by that you meant on the very top of the surface, making your hands shake and your face sweat for the whole world to see.

 

The first thing you heard was her voice from inside.

“John? I told you--don’t come here! Go away! You’re being embarrassing, you know.”

Something was definitely off. That was not the obnoxious, confident voice you had grown so used to--the voice you had spoken to on the phone barely 30 minutes before and this one could belong to two separate people. And yet… it wasn’t somebody else. She lived alone.

It hit you when she spoke again. She didn’t sound so sure of herself. You thought… you thought that it sounded like she was _crying_.

“Didn’t you hear me? Go away, you creep!”

You hesitated. “I’ll leave if you tell me what’s going on!”

“I. Want. To. Be. Left. Alone.”

“Why?”

There was a sound from inside that gave you the impression that she had lashed out and hit something, something suspiciously glass-sounding, off of her entryway table, and then maybe stomped on it a few times, giving a few suspiciously loud shatters and cracks. After a few suspicious seconds of this dancing in glass, the door clicked, and she swung it opened with little other warning, letting you get your first glance at her throughout the ordeal.

“Because! Because I’m fucking pregnant. There. Are you happy? Are you going to start preaching at me now? Because I don’t need to hear it! I don’t… need… to fucking hear it.”

A fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks, but it was obvious that it hadn’t been the first one--her makeup (from last night? It seemed too early for her to have already put on and ruined a new coat) was smeared across her face, blue eyeshadow and kohl black eyeliner combining to make a single bruise-like shadow around her eyes. Vriska’s hair was knotty and tangled, the usually pristine locks looking as if they hadn’t been combed in months. Her state of disarray was topped off by rumpled spiderman pajamas.

This was the worst you had seen her in your life.

Barely having time to take in her appearance alone, Vriska’s words hit you like a freight train. It was too much to take in--you wanted to clean her up, to make everything okay in whatever chaos her life had fallen into, and yet… as much as the sad scene in front of you was reminiscent of last night, this wasn’t Karkat’s cozy abode. The person in front of you wasn’t wearing sweats and a too-small t-shirt. A hug and a shower wouldn’t fix anything.

Your first coherent thought was a ridiculous one, even for you. For a full three seconds after she broke the news, you gaped at her in shock, fully ready to blurt out “You’re the next Virgin Mary!,” making inward plans to be the best darned second coming of Joseph that the world had ever seen. It took you an embarrassingly long time to put your few brain cells together and realize that, no, she hadn’t been faithful to you, and no, it wasn’t Jesus growing in her gut. This realization made your broken stammering none the more intelligent.

“But--we haven’t-- _abstinence_... You signed that promise at church!”

“John,” she said, sounding not so mad as before, but more as if she had less and less energy by the second and your very presence was sapping her sparse supply. “I’m a 23 year old woman. You’re 22! It’s really cute and all that you believe in that whole virgin-until-marriage thing, but I don’t. I never did!” She wiped the partially dried tears off of her face. “I’m sorry John. I really didn’t want to tell you.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to just… stand there. Stand there until your feet melted to the pavement and Vriska’s kid was born and raised and had a family whose soul purpose in life was kicking the petrified rock that you had become directly in the nethers. You felt absolutely, 100% defeated. “...Who?” You finally asked, after a while. There was nothing else to say.

She stared for a moment, not so much at you as it was through you, wrestling with herself. Finally, she sighed, as if deciding that you had, at the very least, the right to know.

“Eridan Ampora. He’s a dick, and _his_ dick is tiny, but fuck, he was there, he wanted what I wanted, and we did it. Do you want an apology? Because really? Grow up.”

You hated the way that even when you had every single reason and right to be mad, she made you the one who had to apologize.

“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t… have sex with you? But when you said pregnant, did you mean…”

“I meant that I’m fucking pregnant! Don’t be dense; there’s only one way you can take that.”

She wasn’t exactly crying now, but her face was screwed up in a way that told you that she was trying very, very hard not to.

“Look, you made a mistake, but it’s not permanent--”

“Not permanent? Not permanent? John! I’m about to ruin my life and my _body_ for some parasite that came from Eridan’s micropenis. How can you say that’s not _permanent_?”

You stared at her, not sure, for the hundredth time that day, how to respond. Ever since you had known her, she had hated children, openly and loudly. “I assumed--I know the church doesn’t endorse it, but--you’re getting an abortion, aren’t you?”

Vriska gave you a long, scathing look, and shook her head. “This town is ridiculous. They’re all like you and your do-gooding father. Do you know what would happen to me if I got an abortion?”

The fact that Vriska Serket was going to be a mother would normally be a laughable concept. There was nothing laughable, however, about this.

“Well--Eridan, he’ll be there for you, right? He IS the father.”

To your surprise, she burst out laughing. “Have you fucking met Eridan? He’s a _weeeeeeeenie_. A loser-y weenie with no spine. There’s no way that he could ever handle being a _dad_.”

“So... what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have this shitty baby, and I’m going to throw my damn life away, and this town will _haaaaaaaate_ me for it, because the bastard kid was conceived out of goddamn wedlock. It’s gonna be the scarlet fucking letter, John. Should I start sewing A’s on my clothes now?”

“Uh, I don’t really know what the Scarlet Letter is about, but are you referencing Easy A? Because Emma Stone was so awesome in that movie; so awesome, almost as good as she was in The Amazing Spider Man--”

“Shut up. Just shut up! This isn’t about Emma Stone! This is about _me_! I don’t have any money. I can’t move. I have to have a kid. My life is over. Nobody cares about your shitty cinematography!”

You were a little hurt by this. You decided to overlook it, though, because you were a really nice and caring human being, dang it. “Well… what if… you weren’t alone. What if you were, uh, married. No one would hate you then, right?”

She studied your face for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out what you got out of helping her. You were sure that this was because empathy was an unknown concept for her, that the very idea of caring for another person without personal gain was beyond the steely yet fragile mind of Vriska Serket. You voiced none of this. It wouldn’t do to just go around pissing her off willy-nilly. Especially if you were going to go around proposing to her.

“John. It’s never going to work out between us. I don’t exactly “love” you or whatever it is you want. You’re nice, okay? But really--”

“I know. In fact, I don’t even really want it to work out. You cheated on me! You had sex. With Eridan Ampora! Apparently, without a condom! But I don’t want you to be miserable. Why won’t you let me help you?”

She didn’t answer you. Instead, she posed a question of her own. “Why the hell are you being so nice? Do you know what I would have done if you were off… fucking some girl? Do you?”

“Well,” you said dryly. “You should thank God that I’m not you, then. Oh, and by the way, Vriska?”

“What?”

“You’re welcome.”

You should have left right then and there. Just walked away from her door. It would have been so badass--her mouth was hanging open, and you were like some awesome, one-liner cracking movie hero. Instead, you made the mistake of hanging around long enough to let Vriska come to her senses--and get the last word in.

“John, is that _aaaaaaaany_ way to propose to a lady?”

Eyeing her steadily, you dropped down to one knee and shrugged.

“I don’t have a ring, and I don’t particularly like you anymore, but what d’ya say? Wanna get hitched?”

 **  
** She smirked, wiping the last of her earlier tears off of her cheeks. “Oh, John. When you treat a woman like that, how can she say no?”


	5. Hello, Yes? This Is Karkat. From State Farm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No bro, that's gay.

The next few nights were a chaotic whirlwind of wedding preparations. 

 

After a long winded discussion (read: you getting yelled at by a pregnant, pissed off Vriska Serket; your future wife and also the bane of your existence), the two of you had come to the conclusion that the wedding needed to be fairly soon, so that no one would start to notice that the scarily skinny Vriska was suddenly swelling oddly around the middle. She had been strangely adamant at first about driving down to Vegas, getting a fat man in a glittery jumpsuit to do your wedding at a drive-thru, then spending the rest of the weekend gambling away the money that could be otherwise spent on an expensive chapel wedding. This idea horrified you to lengths you couldn’t communicate, and it had taken about an hour of wheedling and begging to convince her to agree to the traditional ceremony at the church. Though suspicious of the sudden news, your father agreed to officiate, and you booked the chapel on the day of your birthday--barely less than a month from now.

 

This being so, you were in a constant state of panic and dread. What you once thought of as a day that would be the happiest of your young life was now becoming the end of your world as you knew it--and you felt far from fine.

 

In a town like Skaia, where the population was less than 4 digits and rumors spread quicker than the flu at an elementary school, when something was one person’s business, it was the business of everyone else as well. This was all well and good when it was something interesting going on with someone else, but terrible when it came to you and your personal affairs. It was horrifying to realize that by the time you went back to work on Monday, practically everyone knew you were getting married to the town bitch. Everyone, that was, except--

 

“Karkat! How’re you doing, buddy?”

 

He had called (your number this time, not the bakery) and you had picked up despite being at work. In truth, he was the first ray of sunshine in an otherwise cloudy and dark week.

 

When he spoke, you could practically hear the indignant and embarrassed blush in his voice. Dang, since when had speaking on the phone made you feel so warm and fuzzy?

 

“None of your business. I’m just calling because… fuck, this is awkward. Do you want to come watch a movie with me tonight? I remember you going on and on about the shitty movies you jack off to all the goddamn time--”

 

“I didn’t say anything like that!” You squealed indignantly.

 

He continued, ignoring you. “And so, when I was cleaning out my shit and I found  _ “How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days,” _ I thought that it was exactly the type of bullshit that you would get your rocks off to.”

 

“No way-- _ How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days _ ? Matthew McConaughey is in that!”

 

He groaned. “Of course  _ you _ would like his creepy, distorted mug. Egbert, you have the worst taste in men ever. And that’s coming from me!”

 

“I don’t have a taste in men,” you protested. “I don’t like men. Romantically. ...You knew what I meant.”

 

“Tell yourself whatever you need to, closet case.”

 

You were about to argue some more about the exact logistics of your own sexuality, but a particularly impatient cough from behind interrupted you. Swiveling around, you found a short girl standing at the counter, tapping her fingers. 

 

She looked pretty pissed. How long had she been standing there?

 

“Sorry, gotta go! I’ll be there when I get off work, alright?” You spoke low, trying not to let anyone overhear your words.

 

“You make it sound like some sort of illicit love affair, fucktruck. This isn’t a state farm com--”

 

Had you stayed on the line, you would have heard what was sure to be one of the best, most poetic rants in what might have been the history of the universe. For years to come, you would have been haunted by the beauty and abject truth behind the words he spewed carelessly into the receiver. When the English language no longer existed and our measly sun turned supernova, burning out all life on our pathetic planet, nothing would remain. Nothing, except for the magnificent beauty of Karkat’s rage.

 

Instead, you just clicked the off button. You had work to do!

 

“How may I help you, ma’am?”

 

“Do you do wedding cakes?” The short girl asked. 

 

“Uh, duh?”

 

“Okay, well, here are my specifications,” she slid a paper over to you, which you picked up and examined. “I need this by next Monday. Can you do it?”

 

You nodded. “Yeah, this is sort of a piece of cake, no pun intended. Are you paying now, or at the retrieval date?”

 

She put in the rest of her business and left you to yours. You didn’t think much of what she wanted at first; weddings were common in your line of work, but as you were mixing the batter for cupcakes ordered earlier in the week, you couldn’t help but let a trickle of thoughts cross into your mind about your own wedding.

 

It was with a groan that you realised that you were, in all likelihood, going to have to labor over your own wedding cake for hours, without even the promise of a sweet, sweet paycheck to ease the load.

 

Getting married sucks.

  
  
  


Hours later, you found yourself in the car once again, on your way to Karkat’s house. You shouldn’t be doing this. You have preparations to make, people to talk to, things to do…

 

But ah, what the fuck. Was it really so bad to make Vriska take care of shit alone, just for one night? She kinda had it coming, if anyone asked you; all weekend, you had been making calls, ordering things, talking to people who quite frankly knew nothing about being polite in retail, all while she reclined on your couch with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, watching reality TV while occasionally barking out orders for you to follow.

 

It was infuriating, and you deserved a break.

 

Especially if it was a break with a Matt McConaughey movie, delirious amounts of popcorn, (you had brought some from your own stash, just in case Karkat didn’t have enough) and your newfound best bro.

 

Nothing like pal-honchos and movies to get your mind off of a fake/all too real marriage with no love behind it, right?

 

Karkat opened the door, and you were delighted by two things. One: he didn’t smell like booze and onions! He was clean shaven! His clothes weren’t the same ones you had left him in a few nights ago! He was actually taking care of himself!!! Two: His house was absolutely filled with the delicious, buttery aroma of good popcorn. None of that microwave shit; this was right out of the movie theatre. You had a feeling that this night was going to be awesome.

 

“Took you long enough,” he said in way of a greeting. You grinned.

 

“Let’s get this party started!”

 

Though he rolled his eyes, you were pretty darned sure that he was smiling, anyway. At least, on the inside. You found, with increasing clarity, that you were never going to get tired of his smile. 

 

The movie got started, and both of you flopped down on his overstuffed, worn leather couch. It was ridiculously soft; there were probably clouds with less fluffy comfort. Well, of course, all clouds  _ technically _ had less fluffy comfort than this, considering that they were wade of water vapor, but you were thinking of metaphorical clouds, like the ones in movies about Heaven or something, and--wait. Was it just you, or had Karkat abandoned all the lines of the bro code and sat down directly next to you without leaving buffer room?

 

You decided to ignore it. It was a relatively small couch, after all, and who was it hurting if your legs were touching, just a little bit?

 

Not you. 

 

Swallowing the urge to shout “no homo,” you forced your eyes back to the screen, shoveling popcorn into your mouth like nobody’s business.

 

The next two hours were an experiment in how emotional two grown men could get over a rom-com. The answer was  _ very _ . By the end of the movie the two of you were clutching each other’s shoulders, bodies absolutely shaking with sobs and face caked in tears and snot, popcorn sticking to clothes and nearly forgotten. 

 

It was not your proudest moment, but honestly, you wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

When the credits rolled, you were reluctant to leave, and, in his own Karkatish way, you were pretty sure he was reluctant to see you go. 

 

“I guess I should, uh.”

 

“Yeah, the movie’s over, so--”

 

“Unless you wanted to watch another one? I mean, I can leave if you want, but this is. Fun. I just--”

 

“Stop squirrelling around the point, dipshit. Of course you can stay. What do you want to watch?”

 

You allowed yourself to relax a little, leaning against the plush, cool leather of his couch once more. “What’dya have?”

 

He got up, walking over to a pristine glass cabinet with rows and rows of movie titles to choose from. Your mouth dropped open. You might have even been drooling. Sweet mother of Jesus; this guy had  _ everything _ !

 

“Well?” He sounded a little bit impatient, and maybe a little embarrassed at his ridiculous collection of alphabetized, beautiful, godly movies. 

 

Your mouth still hanging open, you finally found it in you to speak after a long moment of silence. “Dude, I can’t choose, but if we’re going to be honest I think I just came in my pants a little.”

 

“If it didn’t make me sound like every uncreative, half-assed gay stereotype on record, I would suggest Sex in the City, but…”

 

“Oh, that’s what makes you sound like a gay stereotype?” You teased. “Not the literal rainbow striped leggings you’re wearing?”

 

He threw the remote at you, and the painful thunk it made connecting with your skull shut you up pretty quick.

 

“What about National Treasure? Nic Cage is probably the least appetizing person since the dawn of time, but--”

 

_ “Hell  _ yes! And bro, you’re wrong about Nic Cage, he’s so awesome.”

 

“Again; you have  _ the most _ disgusting taste in men. Excuse me as I go disembowel myself rather than get subjected to your long winded fantasy of doing Danny Devito up the ass.”

 

“Gross dude! Gross!”

 

National Treasure was just as good as you remembered it. Maybe even better, because this time Karkat was there with you. You had just finished the sequel, and were about to pop in the third, when you felt the insatiable hunger for more snacks. 

 

“Hey, do you mind if I go make some more popcorn?”

 

“I’ll do it,” he said gruffly, getting off the couch with a grunt. 

 

You stood quickly. “No, that’s okay, you sit down; I’ll get it.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s my house, you’re the guest. Sit down.”

 

You tried an awkward maneuver to get past him, at the same time as he was fully prepared to walk past you, both intent on getting to the kitchen first. The move was so quick and awkward that you both fell before either of you knew what was happening, tumbling onto a blessedly soft landing of shag carpeting (why he still had shag carpeting was beyond you) and discarded pillows.

 

When you landed, he was on top of you at an odd angle, and moved to get off, but before he could, you burst out laughing, a huge fit of giggles that moved contagiously up to Karkat within seconds, and suddenly, there you were, laughing hysterically, tears flowing freely from your tired eyes, dorky grins plastered to your faces. He was still on top of you and you couldn't even bring yourself to care.

 

Even when the giggles finally released their holds on your respective bodies, you found yourselves unmoving in the same position. It didn't feel uncomfortable, exactly… actually, to be completely truthful, it almost felt… right, in an indescribable way. He looked down at you and he was smiling and you loved his smile; it was perfect, it was ethereal, it was the single most beautiful thing you had ever witnessed an you could drown in it as soon as look at it. A smile like that proved a higher power existed. You wanted to worship that smile.

 

The moment was absolutely perfect. Naturally, you had to go and fuck it up. 

 

As you lay there, your body underneath your best bro’s body, gazing up at his pretty face and thinking about his pretty smile, you, John Egbert, got a boner. 

 

The worst part was, you didn’t even notice it at first. You were too distracted by grinning up at the body on top of you to realize that, oh god, you were getting hard and it was terrible, it was all terrible. In fact, only when Karkat looked down, an unreadable expression on his face, did you realize that your body was betraying you.

 

“Uhm…?” Karkat said, at the exact same moment that you started panicking, first pushing him off, then standing up, trying to hide your hard on as well as you could, praying for death.

 

“Oh my god--I’m sorry--I’ll just--”

 

You started for the door. Karkat, stunned, was still on the floor, but stood suddenly, trying futilely to catch you. Why? Was he going to yell at you for being a pervert?

 

“John, you fucking--Why the hell are you leaving?”

 

You didn’t look back, pulling the door opened and sprinting for your car without bothering to close it behind you. In a comedically appropriate turn of events, you knocked into his lone gay pride flag, and had you realized the symbolism of the event, you might have turned around to apologize or at least right the fallen lawn ornament, but you were not in the state of mind required at that moment for such menial tasks. Instead, you did a neat swandive to your car and started the engine before you were even completely in. From there, you left yourself no room to think again until you were at home, putting in a last ditch effort for sleep that night. When that failed, you jacked off furiously, as if that was the answer to all of your problems. 

 

Somehow, it wasn’t. You were so consumed with guilt (guilt at loving Karkat’s smiles, guilt for touching yourself, guilt for leaving) that it was a pitiful wank, even by wanking standards. 

 

With no alternative, you finally allowed your thoughts to slip to the situation at hand, straining your tired mind. And so it went, until about 6 am, when you held one thought in your mind as you fell into a fitful peace:

  
_“Damn it. I didn’t even get more snacks.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg this is my favorite chapter so far... It's going to get good after this! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far; it means a lot!


	6. The Sooner You Accept That Pretty Girls Like Programming More Than They Like You, The Happier You’ll Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Jade may be agnostic, but she is also a gnostic. You better listen to her.

Your name is John Egbert and you are  _ not _ a homosexual. Or a bisexual, or pan, or anything other than straight. You  _ don’t like  _ men. You never have! You’re about to get married to a girl, for heck’s sake! That has to count for  _ something!  _

 

But then again… You didn’t even particularly like Vriska, much less love her. But there was a time when you did! And there were things you still liked about her, right? You liked her… boobs. They were nice. 

 

_ Not as nice as Karkat’s smiles, _ a traitorous part of your mind reminded you. You shushed it down. It was all too much. With every passing moment, you felt more and more like that one scene from Family Guy, the one with a man running from a thought bubble and saying “you can’t catch me, gay thoughts!” But they could catch you. They already were.

 

Surely you were a heterosexual. What kind of gay person references Family Guy with anything other than disgust?

 

You had to call in sick from work that day _ and _ cancel your plans with Vriska. 

 

For the second day running.

 

Oh, she was going to kill you. In the back of your mind, you wondered, should she go through with it, if they could replace your wedding with your funeral. Who would they invite? Everyone who was supposed to come down for the wedding? You imagined their reactions--every distant relative you had, driving all the way down to Skaia for a festive celebration of traditional Christian marriage values, only to be greeted by a closed casket funeral because their idiot nephew decided to marry a black widow who jumped the gun. 

 

In your morbid fantasy, there was Karkat, crying at the casket. You ended the train of thought as quickly as it had begun, knowing that surely, had the medium of your story been different, the words “THIS IS STUPID” would doubtlessly be blinking about your head as you made a ‘bluh’ face. 

 

Whatever that means.

But even as you finally pulled yourself out of your daydream, the thoughts of Karkat would not leave you alone. Would he be coming to the wedding after the unfortunate events of the night before? You had definitely wanted him to come before--but, like, non-suggestively-- _ ugh, _ of course non suggestively! You hadn’t even--oh, this was hopeless. 

 

You forced yourself to stay off the subject for the time being, booking the caterer and texting Vriska about the decoration plan in a desperate ploy to stay on task. For reasons that were only known to her, she demanded a nautical themed wedding, which you considered tacky and gaudy but agreed to nevertheless, and a spider themed wedding cake, which you flat out refused. (You had made enough terrible wedding cakes in your time. Your own wedding cake was NOT going to be one of them.) That whole business took up about an hour, but you found it increasingly clear that there was no way you could hold out on the inevitable any longer.

 

You finally let your thoughts turn to the one subject that they really wanted to be on, to Karkat, and once they were there, there was no turning back. Your mind raced through subjects--innocent at first; his taste in movies, his dry sense of humor, his laugh… Then it turned more risque--his smile, for starters; you fricking loved his smile; you would do anything to get that stupid grump to smile, and the weight of his body on top of yours, and what would it feel like if it was reverse, and you had landing on top of him… When you found yourself getting hard at the thoughts of Karkat's form underneath yours, his pretty eyes and beautiful smile grinning up at you, you asked yourself a question: Had you not gotten a boner the previous night, during that perfect moment, and he had leaned down to kiss you, would you have pulled away?

 

With no small degree of horror, you realized that the answer was no. You wanted to kiss him. 

 

That settled it, then. You may not have been gay, but you were gay for Karkat Vantas. 

 

This exciting and in no way obvious revelation led to the next solid hour of your time being wasted as you flipped the heck out. The “THIS IS STUPID” blinking (whatever that was) was not a thing that was stopping in the foreseeable future. If it existed in this medium, of course. But you couldn't help yourself! What were you going to  _ do? _ Could you still get married to Vriska? You didn't love her--but that was nothing new! You hadn’t loved her when you proposed. Still, now that there was someone that you did love… No! A clump of unborn cells that would one day become a human being and it’s trampy, bitchy mother were going to depend on you so that they didn’t starve or get beaten or ridiculed. Plus, you couldn’t ever make anyone live with Vriska as their only parent. But that wasn’t even your DNA in that cell clump… Still no!

 

Even more traumatizing than the considerations of your wedding were the considerations of your faith. Was that it? Were you going to hell, just like that? That couldn’t be right. All your life, you had been taught that a man falling in love with another man was a crime punishable by an eternity burning in Hell, but now that you experienced it…

 

Now that you experienced it, it felt so…  _ normal _ . There was nothing sinful about this. You were simply enamored with his smile, and his laugh, and his way of talking…

 

And you were surely going to hell for it. 

 

After a whole lifetime of following the holy book to the letter, finding another boy adorable was going to end your chances of seeing the pearly gates. It was driving you crazy! You had to talk to someone about this, but you were discovering rapidly how limited your options were.  Your father loved you, and you knew he always would, no matter what, but you weren’t sure if he would understand this particular thing… And even if he did, you weren’t sure if the advice he could give you would be the kind you needed. Karkat himself was out of the question--for a number of reasons. Vriska?  _ Hell _ no. You hated yourself a little more for even having considered it. You went down your list, eliminating at every turn, until finally you were left with only one person, and even she was a long shot.

 

Your ‘cousin’ Jade had once been your best friend and closest confidant; before your grandma died, she and her brother, Jade’s grandpa, had been close, and the two of you were partners in crime at every family event that you attended. After the unfortunate Sassacre-ing of the late, great Jane Crocker, the two of you hadn't seen quite so much of each other, but you were still pretty sure that she would listen if you called her.

 

At least, you hoped. She was your last option, after all.

 

“Hey… John?” She picked up on the fourth ring. You breathed a sigh of relief, the fears that she was too busy to answer finally leaving your mind.

 

“I think I’m in love.” You said in lieu of a greeting. Well, that was one way to break it to her, genius. You had meant to ease her into the topic, to test the waters, not dropping anything on her too quickly. Instead, you opened your idiot shute and ralphed words. Too late to do anything about it now!

 

Jade was silent for a moment, and then giggled. “Durrrr! I’d hope you were in love, John, considering you’re getting married in  _ two weeks _ ! Hey--by the way, it’s not to that girl you brought to Thanksgiving four years ago, is it?”

 

“N-no,” you stuttered, still a little caught up in your own mind. “That was Roxy. We’re, uh…. Not together anymore.”

 

“Yess! I knew it! Grandpa  _ totally _ owes me 10 bucks! Hey, do you remember when she drank an entire bottle of wine, ignored you to flirt with Grandma Jane all night, and tried to steal that cat from the neighbors?” 

 

How could you forget? It was the last holiday you had spent with your grandmother, and the key contributor to the fact that you hadn’t been invited back in the years since, even after having assured your family that she had dumped you. (It was more of a mutual thing though, really; she had figured out that she was more interested in robots than a relationship, you had figured out that she was an atheist and had promptly flipped every shit you owned.)

 

“She wasn’t usually like that. Roxy was a genius… But that’s not what I called about!  _ Jaaaaaaaade _ , I don’t know what to do!” 

 

“If you’re calling me to tell me how totally in love you are with your fiancee, spare me, please. I think that’s really sweet, but quite frankly, ew, so…”

 

“No, you don’t understand! I’m not in love with Vriska. I’m in love with someone else!”

 

She was quiet for a second, and then let out a long breath of air. “Oh. That… is pretty bad.”

 

“I know! It's really stressing me out, Jade! Tell me what to doooo.”

 

“Well, first of all, what’s her name?”

 

“...Vriska?”

 

“No dummy, the girl you are in love with!”

 

_ Oh.  _ Looking back, it was sort of silly, but you had sort of assumed that she was going to be able to just naturally… tell. Didn’t girls usually have an instinctual reaction when homosexuals were involved? You were really going to have to talk to Jade about her broken gaydar. 

 

“Um. His name is, uh, Karkat.”

 

“You’re  _ gay?! _ That’s great! But I never thought--I mean, you’ve always dated girls--oh, that’s really cute! What’s he like? Is  _ he  _ cute?”

 

“Urgh, that’s so not the poi--okay, yeah, he’s adorable. His smile makes me want to melt. Happy? Anyway, I’m not gay! And I’m really freaking out!”

 

“Uh, hello? You called me to tell me how in love you are. With a boy. You’re probably a little gay.”

 

“Don’t be so ignorant, Jade. I’m probably, like, bi?”

 

“Same difference! Anyways, it’s obvious! Call off the wedding before you get hitched to someone you don’t love. Date Karkat. Have gay babies!”

 

“I don’t have time to tell you how wrong you are on a biological standpoint, so I’m going to cut straight to the point: It’s more complicated than just calling off the wedding. Vriska--she’s pregnant.”

“ _ You _ got a girl  _ pregnant? _ ”

“No! Wait--why’s that so unbelievable? I could, uh, impregnate a girl. If I wanted. But--no! She got pregnant with someone else. I’m marrying her so she’s not outcast from society.”

 

“Like the Scarlet Letter?”

 

“Sure, whatever.”

 

“But… why?”

 

“Because I don’t want her to be ostracized! I’m not in love with her, but I don’t want her to suffer!”

 

“You do realize that this is 2015, don’t you? We’ve left the days of 18th century puritan Boston far behind us.”

 

“That’s not the point,” you whined. “I owe it to her. And that’s not the only problem, either!”

 

“Well?” You couldn’t tell if she was curious or impatient. “What else?”

 

“Jade, do you… do you think I’m going to Hell?”

 

She burst out laughing, then paused when she realized that you were being serious. “Wait, really?”

 

“Uh… duh?”

 

“John, you’ve read the bible like a bajillion times, you love going to church, and you’re probably the most devoted person I’ve ever met. So you like a guy. So what? It’s not like you can help it.”

 

“So you’re saying He made me like this, and I should, er, embrace it?”

 

“Sure…? John, you know that I’m agnostic. This is all pushing the limits of what I can help you with.”

 

You weren’t really paying attention by that point. The wheels in your brain were turning.

 

“Okay, thanks, Jade, I think I have an apology to give someone. I’ll see you later--”

 

“Wait, wait, John, one more thing!”

 

“What?”

 

When she started humming, you should have hung up right then. Unfortunately, she was faster than your finger on the “end call” button, and thus, you were subjected the the last thing you wanted to hear at that moment, straight from the stage of Avenue Q to the mouth of your cousin, who seemed to exist sometimes specifically to torture you. 

 

“I just wanted to let you know--” she cleared her throat, and then, to your absolute horror, started to sing.  _ “If you were gay, that’d be okay. I mean cause hey! I’d like you anyway. If you were que--” _

 

You hung up on her, but not before the raucous giggles from her side of the phone overpowered you, leaving a grin on your face even as you groaned into the receiver. It took you a moment to regain your composure, but when you did, you went back to the dial screen of your phone.

  
“Hey… Karkat? I think I owe you an apology.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the last shorter chapter before a bunch of long ones, so be on the lookout for that maybe.


	7. It’s Okay! Everyone Knows That Pakistan And Hawaii Are Practically Geographic Neighbors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.

“Hey… Karkat? I think I owe you an apology.”

 

“For shoving me to the ground in my own house? Or maybe running away before we could even talk? Yeah, you do owe me an apology. And it better be fucking  _ good _ .”

 

“I was really freaking out. I know I messed up. I shouldn't have shoved you, and I really shouldn’t have run away. Happy?”

 

“And what else?”

 

“I’m also sorry that you unironically like Sarah Jessica Parker, because that’s probably the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, dude.”

 

He groaned, but it was a friendly groan (you hoped). The kind of groan that said “I hate you, and you’re awful, but we’re friends, so it’s okay.” Okay, well, maybe it was just a “done-with-your-shit” groan, and you were reading too much into it. But either way--he didn’t immediately hang up on you, he didn’t cuss you out like times of old, and he hadn’t given up on you yet. There was hope! Your friendship (or should you say budding gay romance?) still had a chance!

 

“Okay, fine. But… listen, about the other night--I know it didn’t mean anything. Shit happens. You don’t have to outline exactly how completely heterosexual you are to me in uncomfortably homoerotic terms and metaphors, talking until my ears fall off from straight boredom. So spare me, okay?”

 

“Yeah, but… Um, I’m not sure how to say this, but I’m not. Straight, that is. I’m uh--”

 

You heard a sound on the other line that sounded distinctly like Karkat Vantas spitting out a mouthful of coffee and coughing for about three minutes afterwards. “You… what?”

 

“I was thinking about it, and. Uh. Yeah. Not a heterosexual. Not completely.”

 

He was silent for a moment, probably trying not to inhale anymore bean juices down the wrong pipe. “We should probably talk about this in, uh. Person.”

 

“Yeah! Uh, yes. Definitely. When?”

 

“Now, shit for brains! Do you think I want to wait in silence, suffering for days just because you don’t want to confront your bisexuality on short notice?”

 

You hesitated. For one thing, your dad was totally going to fire you if you skimped out on your bakery duties a second day running. For another, you still needed some time to figure out what, exactly, you wanted this to be. “I can't. I have work today, and tomorrow... Wednesday is church… what about Thursday?”

 

“Son of a--Fine. Just leave me hanging about this, why don’t you? You know how to treat ‘em, John. The suspense is just fucking amazing.”

 

“Sorry! I’m really busy.”

 

“Whatever. Just...” he hesitated for a moment. “Don’t forget, alright?”

 

“Duh!”

 

When you got off the line, there was a huge, stupid grin on your face. You weren’t quite sure if you wanted it there or not. You honestly weren’t sure of anything anymore. Karkat had a way of doing that to you.  _ Karkat _ . Even thinking his name gave you butterflies. It was like being in middle school all over again, with your first crushes, but you had never felt like this, never felt so entirely… Happy. Happy, about the mere thought of being around someone. Of seeing his face. Of seeing his  _ smile. _

 

That smile could stop wars, you were sure of it.

 

You had about half an hour before work, and rather than spending it doing what you wanted to be doing (beating off--you mean,  _ thinking about Karkat _ ) you instead spent it doing the least appealing thing you could think of.

 

You called Vriska. 

 

One day less than two weeks until your wedding to the biggest bridezilla ever, and you had been ignoring her for two consecutive days. In hindsight, it was a miracle you survived. Not even your sexuality crisis was worth facing Vriska’s seething wrath.

 

She laid it on you the moment you dialed her number. You weren’t actually aware of pressing the “call” button; you typed the last digit of her number in, and there was was, chewing your ear of from five miles away, spitting frothy hot fury directly from the speaker to your ear. If it wasn’t completely impossible, you would have sworn that her venomous spit jumped from her house all the way to your ear. 

 

Hell hath no fury like a Serket scorned.

 

_ “Where have you been?” _ You got a quick moment of deja vu, suddenly recalling the Harry Potter marathon your church had put on, where the youth pastor pointed out every sin in the entirety of the 8 movie series, outlining in droning detail exactly why ‘potterheads’ were on the fast track to hell. You had, quite honestly, loved the movies, so you tuned out Father Zahhak after about ten minutes and just enjoyed the movies, and, right now, a very specific scene from Chamber of Secrets played out in your mind. You resisted the urge to say “Harry! How wonderful to see you dear,” love for life winning out over how AWESOME that movie reference would have been, and tuned back into her screech fest. “--and did you know that I had to go up to your stupid church with your stupid father by MYSELF? You’re so useless, John, I swear to God, where were you the past few days? No, I don’t even want to know. Don’t give me your bullshit excuses. I haaaaaaaate your dumb excuses. Nothing can make up for what you did to me!”

 

You knew, subconsciously, that if she was typing all of this out, this would be about the point where her dumb 8’s would litter into words that had no business with 8’s in them. 8’s would fly left and right, peppered into words like ‘G8d’ and ‘8seless.” She was really upset, and it was best to just let that run its course. 

 

“I’m really sorry, Vriska. I shouldn’t have left you alone to do that. I won’t next time, okay?”

 

“Next time? NEXT TIME? At our NEXT wedding? God, if this was a real wedding, it would be off right now, you ignorant dick!”

 

“If this was a real wedding, I think it would have been over around the time you said ‘I’m pregnant,’ but whatever--”

 

“Don’t you dare patronize me, John, you know you did just as much bad as I did, don’t start playing the victim now.”

 

“What did I  _ do? _ ”

 

“You  _ know _ what you did, asshole! Anyway,” her voice calmed to a normal hiss, almost tolerable. God, had her voice always been so annoying? It couldn’t even think to compare to Karkat’s gravelly, low sounds, which, okay, were just as loud, and at times, just as infuriated as Vriska’s, but you found yourself longing for it nonetheless--“The wedding is in 13 days. We have the invitations sent out, no thanks to  _ you _ \--”

 

“I wrote all those invitations!”

 

“Yes, but I sent them. No shut up, I’m thinking! Anyway, I got the caterer booked--”

 

“Um, no, again, that was me.”

 

“John, I told you where to get food from. I’m the mastermind behind all this. You’re my little sweat monkey, it’s a role you have to play. The faster you accept that, the better. Now--”

 

“For the record, I don’t think a ‘mastermind’ gets her wedding catered from Long John Silvers.”

 

“You fucking  _ fuck _ ! Won’t you ever be quiet? Okay. okay.” Her breath crackled into the receiver a couple times as she breathed heavily, as if her entire body was trying to show you as eloquently as possible how freaking pissed she was without even being in the same room. “As I was saying. Invites. Catering. We have your stupid venue, and my mom and my sister are putting up the decorations we ‘decided’ on as we speak. You got your dad to be the stupid priest, you’re going to be a cheap freak and make the cake yourself. I had to book the club for after the reception myself, but don’t worry! It’s going to be ridiculously awesome, and we’re all going to get wasted. I, for one, can’t wait!”

 

“Wasted? Vriska--you’re pregnant!”

 

“So? It’ll be fiiiiiiiine, John. Anyway, what I was trying to say was--I got my bitch, Kanaya, to do the flowers and shit, so all we really need is my dress, your suit, and the honeymoon venue. Oh, and rings! I want a fluorite center, but with a gold band and diamonds. Real ones, John, don’t you dare skimp on me!”

 

You were still caught up on that third thing. “Honeymoon?”

 

_ “Obviously!” _

 

“Vriska, honeymoons are for people who love each other. They go and--” you dropped your voice, even though you were alone in the apartment. “have sex!”

 

“So? Look, if you want to get busy, too, you can have one room, I’ll have the other, you can pick up some hot babe, I’ll pick up some hot babe, we’ll high five as we go into our separate rooms and enjoy ourselves one last time before we’re shackled in this miserable marriage thing together. We won’t even have to talk to each other except for when we get there and when we leave. Hey, do you think that we’d get a discount if we convinced the people working the desk at the hotel that you’re a hawaiian native?”

 

“My family is Pakistani, you ignorant jerk. And… Hawaii? How are you even affording that?”

 

“I’m not. You are!”

 

“I’m what!?” You didn’t have time for this. You worked at a CAKE SHOP. A cake shop that was going to fire you soon, even if your dad was the one in charge; a glance at your clock told you that you should have left five minutes ago. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I’ll call you after work.”

 

You hung up on her before she had a chance to keep you on the line, grabbing your shoes and your keys and nearly falling down two flights of stairs on your way out of the apartment complex.

 

There should be some sort of warning for those stairs.

 

You were a whole 3 minutes late, but your shift went by quickly. You wish you could have said the same about dress shopping (and, directly after, ring shopping) with Vriska. You knew she had no sense of fashion, but after trying to pry her out of the tenth rhinestone laden monstrosity, you gave up.

 

“God, John, don’t be such a fag.  _ Most  _ guys would kill to see me in this.”

 

You highly doubted it. The dress was cerulean blue, but it was hardly visible with all of the tacky yellow rhinestones that bedazzled the surface and made it weigh about as much as the girl wearing it. Plus… 

 

“It’s a strapless dress. But your  _ bra isn’t _ .”

 

“It’s my dress, in my color. I’m getting it.”

 

“Fine. You pay for it, then.”

 

“Fine!”

 

You failed to resist the urge to flip her the bird as you left the dress shop, and got almost all the way to your car before remembering that you still had to buy rings. There was a grey cloud over your head as you cursed your way back to her side.

 

The ring shop was hardly better. She got into an argument with the sales clerk that lasted an entire 34 minutes (you kept count, having nothing better to do but stand there helplessly) after they told her that no, there were no fluorite rings, but would she like a sapphire instead?

 

In the end, she got a ring with 8 diamonds in it, all around a sapphire in the center. It looked eerily like her eyes. For yourself, you got a plain silver bad, and you paid for both of them, because while you didn’t like Vriska and were completely content to make her pay for her own dress, even a jerk like her didn’t deserve to have to pay for her own wedding ring.

 

Those next two days dragged on for an eternity. Work was work--more or less the same as usual, except that it had somehow started flying by twice as fast as it normally did. Chruch, your normal retreat when things got bad and the overall favorite part of you day, lacked its appeal, and while you went and sang the hymns and went through the motions, your heart wasn’t in it, and you let your mind wander to the one subject that had yet to be ruined for you by Vriska--Karkat. You got lost in thoughts of his eyes and his smile and his stupidly flamboyant clothes and by the end of the service, although you knew from the pamphlet that had been handed to you when you walked in that it was over John 4:13, you couldn’t have given a summary of your father’s words if your life depended on it.

 

By the end of work the next day, if you didn’t get to see him soon, you knew you were going to lose your mind. Combust. Eager to get busy--you mean,  _ have a really deep conversation with him  _ as soon as physically possible, you didn’t even bother to go home and change, but instead drove over to his house the moment your shift ended. This lead to you showing up not even ten minutes after you finally clocked out of capitalist hell, smelling like cake and icing and sweat. He opened the door wearing a shirt that read “Gay Day 2010! Be Free!” and an expression that you couldn’t place as a scowl or a grin.

 

You stood there in the doorway for a moment, just staring at each other, before he started to tell you that you smelled like a french prostitute, and you, at about the same time, leaned forwards to wrap him in a hug. (You just couldn’t help yourself!) This was the hug of legends, the hug to end all hugs. You wrapped him tightly in your arms and just held him there, and after a moment or two, he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you back. Before you could chicken out, you moved your head down at an angle, compensating for the inch or so that you were taller than him, and kissed him, directly on the mouth. Right there. In front of his entire neighborhood. 

 

In public.

 

He didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t pull away, but didn't kiss you back, either. After a moment of this, you moved  backwards, already apologizing. “Sorry. Sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed--that wasn’t--”

 

“Don’t be stupid, asshole.” Karkat said, grabbing a handful of your shirt and pulling you, not as gently as you would have handled him, back down to his level. 

 

“I want this too.”

 

Right as he said it, he closed the gap between your moths, and you kissed him back, as he pulled you into his house, closing the door behind you in one fluid motion, somehow without breaking the kiss. There were no words, but the two of you kissed until your lips were swollen and pink, until you were both out of breath, until it was all you could do to look at his grey eyes, at his perfect smile, at his beautiful radiance about him that you had never quite noticed before. It was then that you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you were head over heels in love with Karkat Vantas.

 

You also knew that you were getting a boner. Another frigging boner. He looked down, and then back up, and you could tell that he was weighing the chances of getting laid versus you getting spooked again when he asked, hesitantly, “Do you want to..,” he gestured at your unfortunate problem. “Uh,”

 

You hesitated. It would have been so easy to say yes. Your boner was totally  _ screaming  _ for you to say yes, in as much as a boner can scream. But you were still saving yourself for marriage, for one thing, and for another, you were getting married in a week and a half! Not that you owed jack shit to Vriska--even she expected you to have other relations! But… no.

 

You couldn’t do this, and you had to tell him.

 

Up until this point, you had been putting off telling Karkat, sure that something--something!--would come up and save you from the marriage to Vriska. Surely, you had reasoned, the romance gods would see that you and Karkat are the world’s most perfect couple, and that you and Vriska were a match made in Hell. They would have to take pity on you, throw you a bone,  _ something _ to save you from a bad marriage without you actually forcing you to break it off yourself. Now, the time was one week and 4 days until doomsday, and you were quickly losing hope for a miracle.

 

You broke. “Yeah! I mean, I…. would like to. But I can’t. Karkat, I’m so sorry, it’s just--”

 

“Don’t apologize for not wanting to have sex, you ridiculous shithead. Do you really think I’m so goddamn belligerent that I’m going to get mad at you for not being ready to do it with a guy?”

  
“I haven’t done it with _anyone_ , moron. But no--that’s not it--Not entirely. Karkat, I’m getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of the new year! I'm really excited--there's only 3 more after this, and each of them are pretty exciting, at least, they were to write. I hope you're enjoying this journey as much as I am!


	8. You’re Pretty Sure There Was No Julia Roberts Movie With Tom Hanks In 2015, But That’s Just The Kind Of Plot Hole You’re Going To Have To Accept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been said that no good story exists without a physical fight scene. The author took this advice to heart.

He gaped at you for what seemed like an eternity. The emotions that passed over his face were too many to count--you were absolutely terrible at reading people, but even you could see the hurt, betrayal, confusion, _anger,_ ** _sadness…_** and that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was the most upset you had ever seen him; sure, the guy got pissed off at the drop of a hat, but that was mere surface anger. This was genuine hurt, and it was terrifying. The anger, the rants, all of that would have been easier to deal with, to apologize to. Instead he just… stared. Mouth open, eyes wide. Not sure how to react.

 

You felt yourself die a little inside each second that passed.

 

Karkat’s fist, when it came, came hard and true, and for the first couple of milliseconds, you were relieved, because rage was exactly as you had anticipated; easier to deal with than his complete and total disbelief. Soon after, though, all you were aware of in this earthy realm was his punch, straight in your gut.

 

That was a boner killer if there ever was one.

 

“You… you…” He spat out the words, failing to find a suitable insult for the first time in his life. He looked utterly disgusted with you. You wanted to cry.

 

He hit you again, and the tears that sprung to your eyes had nothing to do with your despair.

 

“How long?”

 

“Huh?” You managed, keeled over from the pain inflicted to your gut.

 

“How long did you expect to be able to hide this shit? Were you going to keep doing me behind the back of whoever the fuck you were doublecrossing me with? Raise a family over there with your 50’s housewife and then keep coming over here to lead me on with terrible movies and sloppy makeouts?”

 

You winced at how close to the truth he had inadvertently come. But it wasn’t like that! You weren't a family man! (Not like Nic Cage in the movie of the same name… you needed to rewatch that sometime, though). You were doing Vriska an 18 year, life changing favor, but your real love was with Karkat. Couldn’t he tell?

 

You started to explain all this to him, but before you got out a single syllable, he started in with another punch. Fed up, you grabbed his fist, and sent a punch of your own sailing into his jaw.

 

Somehow, it seemed like the only logical next move.

 

He staggered as you yelled, “Just listen to me for a second, you jerk!”

 

“Oh yeah? Why should I?” Recovered, he kicked you in your flagging erection, and you finally dropped to the floor, where he kicked you again, in the kidneys this time. This was getting out of hand, and fast. You spat at his foot before answering. “Because, idiot! _I love you!_ ”

  


He didn’t kick you again, but he did snarl “Tell it to someone who cares,” before hawking a gob of spit onto your shirt. And to think! Not even five minutes ago, the only spit you two had been swapping was the loving kiss variety. You now longed for that moment, but as your nether regions were now healed enough to let you stand, you lurched forwards, unsteady on your feet, and immediately pulled his hair the second you had the ability to do so.

 

“I don’t love Vriska! I only love you, dummy!”

 

He pulled away, that particular handful of his hair staying with you. “Then why the _fuck_ are you getting married?” Before you got the chance to answer him, he delivered a swift punch to your jaw. You stumbled backwards, but this time stayed on your feet.

 

“Vriska’s pregnant!”

 

He almost froze again, but reacted swiftly with a good elbow to your glasses. One of the lenses shattered, and while you were relatively sure that there was no glass shards in your ocular, you were equally sure that it was going to be a long time before you could see out of that eye again--much longer than say, the 2 weeks you had until your wedding. Briefly, you imagined yourself at the altar with a shiner. It wasn’t pretty.

 

Paying Karkat back, you showed your body into his, toppling him over onto the floor, and you along with him. He let out a loud ‘oof’ as he hit the ground, but found the breath to talk as the two of you rolled around, clawing and wrestling for the advantage.

 

“I should have known that you were a fucking… a fucking… breeder. I should have never trusted you.”

 

“You trust me?”

 

“Trust-ed. Past tense, bozo.”

 

You were momentarily caught off guard by his resigned anger. He took this opportunity of feelings and betrayal to headbutt you in the mouth. Spitting out a tooth, you kneed him in the stomach.

 

“The baby isn’t mine.” You said. Or, well, tried to say. You sounded like Rocky Balboa at the time, and felt like him, too, so it came out more like “A bayebee ichs nah mahnhn,” but you got your point across nonetheless.

 

He stopped cold. “What?”

 

You paused from your position on his chest. “Will you let me explain without hitting me again?” (Wehh ooo eehh me echplayn wi’out iin me agaan?)

 

He considered for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said. “If the explanation is good enough.”

 

You went through your entire tale; beginning with dating Vriska but falling for him, and ending with her awful sapphire ring. By the end of your woeful tale, he looked sheepish, sad, and exhausted.

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know. “ He said softly after a moment’s pause. “She’s not going to be a pariah. It’s 20 the fuck 15; people might gossip, but that’s about it. And this is Vriska Serket we’re talking about. She _lives_ on gossip. She’s using you, John. She’s using you like a fucking measuring tape in the pristinely manicured hands of Miuccia Prada.”

 

“I’m going to ignore how gay that metaphor was and get to my point. I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it because she won’t have an abortion, _Eridan’s_ sure as heck not going to take responsibility for the kid, and no one deserves Vriska as their only parent.”

 

He studied your face for a long while, looking at you like you were a puzzle he had to solve. Finally, he groaned and said “John, I wish I knew how to quit you.”

 

You grinned around your split lip, and, finding yourself still pinning Karkat down under you, (which felt just as great as you had imagined it would, though tragically less sexy) you leaned down gently to give him a soft kiss. Before you could make that sweet contact, though, you paused and pulled back. “Was that a reference to Brokeback Mountain?”

 

He rolled his eyes and twined his fingers through your hair, finally admitting a quick “...Yes,” before pulling your head down and bringing your lips to his, giving you the softest, sweetest, slowest kiss you had ever taken part in. Once again, it was hard to believe the activities of just five minutes beforehand, but this time, you were happy to be in the present. The kiss left you sensitive and emotionally drained. You felt just a little bit like crying.

 

“This is fucked up. We were just beating the shit out of each other, and now we’re kissing like we have a future, when you’re getting married in a week--to a woman--and--”

 

“Yeah. This is pretty messed up. But you know what else is messed up? You have a framed poster of a movie that Adam Sandler starred in hanging up in your living room where everyone can see it. If that can be okay, then this can. Karkat, I think I might really love you. If messed up means that I get to be with you for even _one more second_ , I’ll take messed up, any day.”

 

He elbowed you, but this time it was gently, mindful of your bruises and scrapes. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

You laughed. “I know you feel the same way.”

 

He studied you for a second, and nodded. “Yeah, I do.” He kissed you again, and if your story, your life ended right there, you were sure that you wouldn’t mind in the least.

  
  


This was how you spent the next four days. Your father gave you the week or so preceding the wedding off from work, so the only times you had to get off of your ass and leave the sweet comfort of Karkat’s couch were when Vriska called you up, desperate for a working moneky. These were the times you dreaded; when she first saw all of your new injuries, she left a bright red slap on your face to match the red and purple bruise that masked your eye.

 

“People will thing I did that, you clumsy stooge! What the hell did you even do? No--I don’t want to know. God--I’ll figure something out. I have to do _everything,_ don’t I?”

 

In the end, she made you buy an eyepatch that matched your suit--not nearly as clever a solution as she seemed to hail it as, but good enough, you guessed. It looked just as tacky as you thought it was going to, but what could you say? That seemed to be the theme of the night. At least this situation had left you with a tie in to the nautical theme.

 

The remainder of your time was spent on Karkat’s couch, watching a neverending stream of movies while kissing.

 

There was a lot of kissing. Even under the ever watchful eye of Adam Sandler in “50 First Dates,” it was pretty awesome.

  
  


Exactly one week out from Doomsday, your phone rang. You picked it up, expecting Vriska. Maybe it should have registered that the song coming from the phone was not the iconic “Blue Eyes (Are Sensitive To The Light),” but rather the Rolling Stone’s “Fortune Teller.” But really, who had time for songs when you were being forced under the dregs of heterosexuality?

 

“I thought you said you didn’t need me to do anything else for you today,” you whined.

 

“Um?” The voice on the other side wasn’t Vriska’s. “That’s a really nice way to greet your favorite cousin.”

 

“Oh! Jade!”

 

“Yeah, stupid! I just got into town, and I showed up at your apartment to surprise you, but surprise! You’re not even here.” You could hear her ‘:/’ emoji in your head.

 

“Oh… sorry. I’m at Karkat’s house.”

 

“Are you decent?”

 

“What!?”

 

“I said, are you decent? It’s 10 p.m. and you’re at a _boy’s house_.”

 

“Jade,” you whined. “You know I’m a virgin. We’re just watching Failure to Launch.” For the third time.

 

“Cool. I’m coming over. What’s the address?”

 

You looked to Karkat, who shrugged. “Uh... It’s 41334 Alternia Lane.”

 

She thanked you, and hung up the phone before you could tell her not to come. Not even ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. You looked at Karkat, who shrugged again, sending you a look that said “ _Don’t ask me of all people about women_ ,” and you got up off the couch and opened the door that you had been kissing in just a few days ago.

 

Though you hadn’t seen her since the Thanksgiving incident, Jade hadn’t changed much. She still had the same round, wire rimmed glasses that were too big for her skinny face, and the same buck teeth that were an Egbert-Harley hereditary trait. Her skin, darker than yours from years of living out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, was freckled and adorned by a new tattoo; a wavy spiral of lines filled in with tiny stars on her shoulder, which was uncovered by her shirt, which hung off of one shoulder. Apart from that, the only noticeable difference you could spot was the fact that her hair, once covered by the veil she had grown up wearing, was loose and ratty, tangling its way from her head to her midback.

 

She didn’t ask to enter, but gave a toothy smile and pushed her way in, admiring Karkat’s sparsely furnished abode. Once she reached Karkat, (who was frozen to the couch, not saying anything--was he scared of her? Lmao) she gave him an invasive, searching stare, and squinted her eyes, hugely magnified by her glasses. The best description that you could currently give of her was that she was a pakistani Edna Mode.

 

“So. _You’re_ the one that turned my cousin into a sodomist,” She eyed your wounds, grimacing even further. “And apparent, a masochist.” Her tone was terse. Immediately, you realized that you were about to be part of an awesome joke. Even though you loved Karkat, there was no way that you could pass up this opportunity.

 

Karkat, not having enough knowledge of your cousin to be in on the joke, looked from Jade to you, pleading with his eyes. He only knew your family from the way that he knew you, and so you could immediately see that he fell right into what she had set up--she was playing the part of an ultra-religious family member, who might not be so out of place on your side of the world. The fact that Jade had grown up Muslim was completely beside the point. All you could do for Karkat was shrugging helplessly, but inside, you were forcing yourself to keep a straight (no pun intended) face, as to not give away her joke.

 

“I didn’t ‘turn him into’ anything, you ignorant dipshit. If he likes me, that’s his fault. By the way, did anyone ever teach you about manners? I thought that dickwhiffing monsters had to be given permission to enter a house.”

 

“That’s vampires, dumb-butt,” you offered, barely holding in your laughter.

 

“If you and John are going to continue to be… special friends… you’re going to have to shape up. For one thing,” her eyes drifted pointedly to his shirt, which had a (disgustingly detailed) phallus on it underneath the words “Got dick?” “You’re going to get an entirely new wardrobe. I want your clothes to scream the name “Jesus Christ,” not… “Neil Patrick Harris.” And besides that, have you ever picked up a bible in your life?”

 

At this point, even you could tell that she was struggling to hold in her own peals of giggles. Apparently, Karkat was blind to this.

 

“My brother’s a preacher. I go to his services once a month.”

 

She gave a disapproving look up and down his clothes. “I’m surprised that such a holy place let a demon spawn like you in.”

 

“You say that, but obviously it lets one like you in often enough.”

 

“I am not--pfff--a sinner!”

 

“Judgement is a sin.” You were almost amazed by Karkat’s inability to notice when a prank was being pulled on him. The poor, sweet sucker. You would laugh at his downfall.

 

She gave him one last long, scating look before finally dissolving into peals of giggles. Karkat looked more bewildered than ever, looking at you for help. You lasted a few seconds before a burst of explosive laughter finally escaped your own mouth. When the two of you finally came up for air, Karkat looked not as much scared as vaguely pissed off.

 

“Hey, John, he really believed it!”

 

“You’re not a..?” While he said this, Karkat inched closer to you, both taking your hand and hiding behind your back at the same time. It seemed to you that every second Karkat spent in the presence of a woman, the gayer he became. It was like a miracle or something.

 

“Uh, no, I don’t even go to church. It’s great and all, but that scene just isn’t for me.”

 

The prankster’s gambit was soaring in her favor, and she knew it. The look of triumph on her face was enough to make any well endowed pranksmith shed the tears of a proud guardian. You were no exception to this rule.

 

“Then why the fuck did you give me that scene?” Karkat asked.

 

“Your face! It was priceless; how could I resist?”

 

Your boyfriend (could you call him that?) scowled, moving even closer to you. “John, your family is psycho.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, dude. It was funny! Plus, if you think that was bad, I’m not sure you’re going to be able to survive meeting uncle Jake.”

 

He released his death grip on your hand and moved away, giving both you and Jade an adorable glare. Even when he was mad, you noticed, he was cute.

 

Naturally.

 

“I just got into town. Hey, John, can I stay at your place until the wedding? I didn’t have the money for a hotel… thanks, cuz!”

 

“Uh… Jade, I’m going to be staying here until the wedding.”

 

“Perfect! More room for me at the apartment, then. But wait, staying at an illicit man’s house until the night of the wedding? Naughty.”

 

“Shut _up_ , she’s probably seeing multiple guys before then, too. She plans to rent separate rooms on our ‘honeymoon.’”

 

“Awe, c’mon. I was joking with you! But remind me again why you’re getting married to her?”

 

Karkat finally found his voice. “Because John’s the nicest person on the goddamn planet and Vriska’s taking full advantage.”

 

Jade nodded thoughtfully. “At least we can agree on one thing!”

  
  


You and Karkat continued to spent time together in the days preceding the wedding, with a sprinkle of Jade dropping by and complaining when you and he kissed. Truth be told, you actually did it (a lot) more than normal when she was there just to annoy her, but the world on which that was a bad thing was not a world on which you wanted to exist. Every kiss felt like your last. These days were seasoned with an increasingly strong dash of panicky fear, one that both of you knew you felt but couldn’t vocalize if your life depended on it.

 

On the eve of what was surely going to be the worst day of your life, Jade dragged both of you out of Karkat’s house and into the streets of town under the pretense of giving you "The Best Damn Bachelor Party This Shitty Town Has Ever Witnessed." Skaia wasn’t a big town, but there were a few bars scattered out and about, and Jade seemed dead set on stopping at every one.

 

“C’mon, John,” she whined, pulling your arm in one hand and Karkat’s in the other. “You’re getting married tomorrow, so your last night of freedom is today! You’ve got to _live_!”

 

“I can live without getting knockout drunk and hungover.” You glanced at Karkat, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since Jade had suggested clubbing. “I don’t want alcohol. Why don’t we see, like, a movie or something?”

 

Jade groaned, but Karkat perked up immediately. “I think there’s a new Julia Roberts move out--”

 

“Or,” you interrupted, “we could see something that doesn’t suck. Isn’t there another Fast and Furious movie out right now?”

 

“I thought you said something that _didn’t_ suck.” Jade put in. (Who even asked her, honestly) You socked her in the arm, then moved quickly being Karkat, lest she decide to hit back.

 

“Well, there’s no way that I’m watching Julia Roberts at my bachelor party.”

  
  


You watched Julia Roberts at your bachelor party. And you cried like a bitch. When the credits rolled, you, Karkat, and about a dozen elderly ladies were sobbing over her ruined marriage with Tom Hanks, while Jade was asleep and drooling on your shoulder. You didn’t understand how she could sleep through that cinematic excellence. When you roused her and your little group made your ways out into the brightly lit lobby, Jade gave you a sleepy goodbye, and Karkat started saying his goodbyes to you as well, before you shushed him.

 

“We have one last night. Can’t we spend it together?”

 

He nodded. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  
  


You went back to his apartment, speaking as little as possible. Neither one of you wanted to break the moment, to remind each other of what came next.

 

The soft, sloppy kisses turned into more, and he pulled you into his bedroom. You wanted this. When you found yourself pinning down Karkat, an entirely difference experience now than it had been a week and a half before, there was a grin on your face and no thought on your mind but the next hour, the imminent future beyond that being able to wait. _Damn_ , did you want this. In between passionate, emotional tongue kisses you stopped, panting hard, to speak.

 

“I want you to be there. Tomorrow.”

 

He stopped cold. Withdrew his warm hands from your overheating body.

 

“...At your fucking wedding to someone else?”

 

“Please. For me. I have to do this, and there’s no way out, so don’t try to pull one of those crappy things at the “if anyone can give a reason these two should not be wed” part like they do in the movies, even though that would be cool, because I know what I’m doing… Just. Please, Karkat. I want you there with me.”

 

He looked away. There was regret in his eyes, and seeing it took your heart, slam dunked it down your esophagus, and made you choke on it until you died. Plus, it totally killed your boner. He gave no answer, but his silence said enough.

 

The mood was lost. You tried to rutt your hips, but he shook his head.

 

“You’ll regret it.”

 

He was right. You no longer wanted this.

  
You shifted away from his hips. You knew, too, that only regret could come of what you wanted to do, but you had wanted it to be him, had wanted to spite Vriska...

 

Nevertheless, you let him pull you into a world-ending hug and slipped under the covers beside him, letting him kiss you softly on the cheek and no more. He held you close, and if a stream of hot tears slipped down from his faceinto your hair, you didn’t say anything. After all, you were crying, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof. This is probably my least favorite chapter in the whole fic, if we're being honest. Better things to come in the next two weeks, but enjoy the longer update! 
> 
> I know this is barely on time but I had to work out like 3 times and change a tire today. Cut me some slack.


	9. Paper Cutout Moses Can Mind His Own Damn Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dawn of the wedding day is here. John may have forgotten a few things.

If there was anything more painful than falling asleep in the arms of the person you loved, right before waking up to the morning of your marriage to someone you objectively didn’t, it was waking up the morning of your marriage to someone you didn’t love in the arms of someone you really, really did.

 

The fact that the universe didn’t seem to realize how crappy of a day this was going to be right off the bat made you really mad. How could the sun shine through the windows, how could the birds chirp happily, how could the air be so dang CRISP and SEASONAL when you were about to march to your doom? (Well, technically, you were going to be standing at the altar while your doom marched towards you, but that was besides the point.) In any self respecting movie, the scene would be set by a dark, cacophonous sky of thunderclouds and rain hurling with such force towards the windows that they might, perhaps, blow open and soak you, just to show you that today was going to suck more than Karkat’s taste in movies.

 

This did not happen. You were left alone to detangle yourself from Karkat and his snare of too-warm blankets as gently as you could, leaving nothing in his house but a sloppy kiss pressed to Karkat’s sweaty forehead. Worst of all, with no scene-setting, genre familiar wind and rain knocking the windows in, the task of outlining exactly how much today was going to suck was left to none other than the groom himself.

 

You just had to do EVERYTHING for this wedding, didn’t you?

 

You found yourself crying again when you sat in your trashy subaru, driving back to your trashier apartment, but managed to dry your tears before you got up to your room. Jade was waiting up there, you knew, ready to pounce and start trying to talk you out of your wedding while simultaneously getting you “spiffed up” for the event. 

 

You weren’t sure which scared you more: the fact that you were about to throw away the best thing that had ever happened to you, or the fact that you were letting a girl who had spent 9/10ths of her life deep in the jungle do your hair.

  
  
  


By the end of her beauty session (at least, that’s what  _ she _ called it), you were quite sure that it was, in fact, the latter that terrified you down to the core of your existence. Your cousin was downright horrifying.

 

To start with, she wouldn’t let you eat anything all day, after forcing you into your suit at nearly the asscrack of dawn. All day, she used you as her personal beauty head, and by 7pm, when you were loading up to go to the ceremony, she had managed to both curl  _ and _ straighten your hair, force you to allow her to put eyeliner on your one good eye, and you had narrowly avoided getting your nails done black. (The only argument that could convince her that it was a bad idea was that it didn’t go with your tux--and even then, she had one foot out the door to buy some white nail paint.)

 

The drive to the church was one that you had made hundreds of times before, but this time, it seemed somehow both longer and shorter than normal. You were highly uncomfortable--the white rose that Jade pinned to your lapel was pricking you whenever you moved, and had she  _ really _ needed to tie the eyepatch on that tight?--and it was both a relief and a shot to the heart when you arrived before the familiar steeple of the church.

 

Inside, everything looked exactly as it always had, and yet, exactly how it always hadn’t.

 

White roses and blue violets in crystal vases adorned each available surface. You arrived before almost everyone, ready to make late preparations and the like, and in the empty halls of the sanctuary, so normally pulsing with life (this was never meant to be such an empty building) you stopped, looking idly at one of the stained glass windows, and you started to pray.

 

You did not drop to your knees. You weren’t going to dirty the white fabric and have one more thing for Vriska to yell at you about. Instead, you stood, clasped your hands, closed your eyes, and bowed your head like this was vacation bible school and not the brink of your whole life. 

 

You began.

 

“Are you there, God? It’s me, John. I know I haven’t been talking to You as much as I should be, lately; I don’t feel like myself after all that’s happened. I’m not sure what I should tell You. You know that I’ve been sinning and lying and… um… kissing boys, and I should probably ask forgiveness for some of that, but right now, I just want to ask you what I should do. I don’t know what’s best for me anymore. Please, help.”

 

You paused for a moment, waiting for a response that would never come. You knew better, really, than to expect the clouds to open up and to hear His magnificent voice booming down, all for such a stupid reason as giving you dating advice, but if there was any moment in your life when you needed it, it was then. Before, you would have taken the silence to mean that God knew what was best, and that He wasn’t going to spoil what came ahead for you. Now? Now… you weren’t so sure. You didn’t know what to believe anymore.

 

Tears threatened to well up in your eyes for the second time that day when you heard a familiar, fatherly voice from the end of the corridor.

 

“Son?”

 

“Oh! Hey, dad.” You wiped your exposed eye under your glasses and tried to control your voice. The last thing you needed was for your old man to know about all this. Still… you ached to tell him. You didn’t want to face all this alone.

 

“Feeling alright, John?”

 

“Like a million bucks!” 

 

He gave you a skeptical face, and you backtracked through your words, shrugging with what you hoped came off as an embarrassed smile. He knew when you were bluffing, but maybe he wouldn’t catch the bluff if you owned up to a different one.

 

“Okay, okay… I’m a little… anxious.”

 

Your father’s worried expression softened, and he patted you on the back. “It’ll be alright, John. I’m very proud of you for taking this big step in your life.”

 

You nod amiably. “Dad, you said you were proud of me after I got suspended for kicking Cronus Ampora’s butt in seventh grade.”

 

“It was a learning experience. Besides,” he looked around, lowed his voice, and gave a conspiratorial wink. “That little punk had it coming. But that’s not the point. I just wanted to let you know.” He gave you one more hearty fatherly pat to the shoulder before walking further down the hall, letting you have your space. Watching the back of his well tailored pastor’s suit retreat down towards the reception hall, you wondered, if only for a second, if you had received the answer to your prayer for advice after all.

 

The caterer arrived first, after you father and yourself. About an hour after _ that _ , the guests started to trickle in, all smiles and giving you overly-slobbery kisses on the cheek as they shouted enthusiastic well wishes for the marriage.

 

It is only after your second cousin, Joey, comes over to you and whispers a pastry based question in your ear that you realize that you never made the wedding cake.

 

_ Fuck. _ Jesus fucking  _ fuck. _ You were putting it off to the week before the wedding so that it would be fresh, but you had spent that same week on Karkat’s pullout couch binge watching Gilmore Girls. You had forgotten the cake. The cake!

 

Freaking out in the most dignified manner possible, you quickly sent Jade off to the capitalist hell of Walmart with instructions to buy the nicest, biggest cake that they had. Naturally, it was at this moment that both Karkat and Vriska’s family walk into the door, and naturally, they both decided to make a beeline straight for you.

 

Nothing goes your way. Once again, you remind yourself that today is the worst day of your life, and to proceed accordingly. 

 

Individually, you had always thought of both Karkat and Vriska’s blind sister as unnecessarily loud at times. Now you knew better. One on one, Karkat’s voice was a whisper. Terezi was practically on mute. Neither one, alone, could possibly compare to the absolute ear shattering monstrosity that was the two of them together.

 

“Karkat! I’m quite flattered that you’d come all this way to woo me, but you must know that I’m not interested in  _ seeing  _ you right now.”

 

“I’m not here for you, bitch. Why would I waste my valuable time trying to get back with your skeletal ass, anyway?”

 

“Right. Well, good luck trying to sweep Vriska off her feet, then. Although,” a noise that you would have sooner attributed to a pack of wild dogs ripping apart a live chicken than a human laugh came out of Terezi’s throat. “I’m not sure how well that’s going to work out for you! Oooh… I heard you got fired recently.  _ Tell _ me all about it. Spare absolutely  _ none  _ of the detail!”

 

“I’m here for John, which you would know if you, I don’t know, opened your eyes?”

 

What followed this (possibly politically incorrect) comment was a noise that sounded distinctly like Terezi’s cane hitting the soft, soft skin of Karkat’s pelvic region at an alarming velocity, followed by the screeches most typically associated with bald eagles fighting for dominance. The worst part was, you weren’t actually able with any confidence to determine if the noise came from Karkat’s screaming or Terezi’s laughter. With a growing amount of horror, you realized that it might have been a mix of both.

 

Enough was enough. You had to save your (boy?)friend from the terrible clutches of the Serket family, amusing though it was to watch him completely dominated by the presence of a girl almost a foot and a half shorter.

 

When you made your way over, Karkat had more or less stopped writhing in agony, and you were able to get a good look at the two people now standing next to each other. 

 

You knew this girl only as Vriska’s sister, but judging by Karkat’s reaction and the preceding conversation, there was a story.

 

“John!” Her voice sounded absolutely ecstatic in a completely mocking but good natured way. You had never heard this much inflection in anyone’s voice, ever. You were already intimidated, and from the looks of things, so was he. Without looking at him (or, well, anything), Terezi’s clawlike hand shot out and grabbed the front of Karkat’s suit. He cried out in displeasure, but her viselike grip held strong. Even before she made what was no doubt, in her mind, a witty and positively amusing comment, a small bout of cackles escaped her lips.

 

“Please tell mister  _ cherry limeade  _ to go home and change. I can’t be seen wearing the same suit as him, and I was here first.”

 

“We got here at the same time, stink breath.”

 

“I was walking faster than you. It’s not my fault you have a slow gait.”

 

Until she pointed it out, you hadn’t even realized that the awkward red velvet suit that Karkat had managed to dig up out of nowhere was the same one that Terezi was wearing. You suspected that this was because you were too busy studying her (frankly, worrying) attempt at makeup. There was eyeliner about half an inch above her waterline, lipstick on her chin, and mascara that got on her cheeks and nose. Even blind, you suspected that she could have done better than the actual result, and if not, why not get someone with functioning eyes to do it? What was this chick’s deal anyway. You really did not understand her.

 

Things getting stranger, you noticed that the tux Terezi draped over herself was the approximately the same size as the one Karkat had on. It was too small on Karkat’s tall frame, the pants coming halfway up his calf and the sleeve ending six inches down from his elbows. On Terezi, though, it was like a tent, the sleeves falling over her hands as if she was a nine year old playing dressup and the pants covering most of her shoes. Idly, you wondered if that was such a good fashion choice for a blind girl. Plus, why did they both have the blasted thing? It wouldn’t have looked good even if it had been in their size, but as it was, you weren't sure how they got into the church. The sign on the door said semi-formal.

 

“Terezi, how does it feel knowing that I’ve met hundreds of drag queens and they all do better makeup than you?” His voice was barred, steely. Careful. He was making sure to not let any emotion through. 

 

“I wanted to look good for my sister’s big day, and this is what I get. You’re making fun of a blind girl, Vantas.” Her sharp, angular face contorted into a mockery of sadness, a face you weren’t sure if she was actually all that adept at making.

 

Before there was a fully fledged fight in the middle of the church, you jumped into the conversation with a question that had been bugging you for an entire 5 minutes.

 

“So, why the suit? How come you two have the exact same thing on?”

 

“Dave must have terrible luck when it comes to leaving his suits in the exact wrong place.” She gave a wicked grin in the direction she must have assumed Karkat was standing in, but ended up giving you Great Uncle Jake a shark-like snarl.

 

Karkat froze.

 

“You’re wearing your ex-boyfriend’s coat?”

 

He grimaced, but after a moment, nodded. “The only other tux I had said the words ‘bottom bitch” on the lapel and didn’t have an ass.”

 

You tried (and succeeded, for once!) to not pop a boner at the thought of Karkat’s plush ass.

 

His face was pained in a way that hurt you to the core, and the combined chatter of your fiancee’s sister and memories from a time he would rather forget were not helping anything. Taking pity, you pulled Karkat away from the small group, making some excuse about needing him to give you some last minute advice, before dragging him into some classroom in the preschool hall and shutting the door behind you. A familiar construction paper cutout of Moses smiled down on you when you pressed your mouth against his, and you only cared about his papery judgement a little bit.

 

When you pulled away, breathing hard, he quirked an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged apologetically. “I’m about to get married. This is kind of our last chance.”

 

“How long do we have?” He asked. You shrugged again, pointedly ignoring the fact that when he asked that, he was thumbing the hem of his too-small pants.

 

“Not long enough. Vriska’ll get here any second, and when she does, she’ll be looking for someone to boss around. I’m like, her favorite choice, dude.”

 

“As if she can boss anyone around in that dress. I mean, c’mon, rhinestones  _ and  _ bra straps? Maybe she’s not here yet because she got pulled over by the fashion police.”

 

“Dude, I don’t think you even get to talk about other people’s poor fashion choices.” You laugh, gesturing to his felt suit. He flips you the bird in the most graceful manner possible.

 

“I’m a flamboyant gay man. I’m categorically the fashion fucking expert. Give me my goddamn crown.”

 

“Where did it all go wrong?”

 

“Eat me.”

 

“I’m not so sure we have time, but…”

 

He socked you in the arm, but you were giggling, and after a few seconds of shooting you a withering glare, he fell apart and laughed too.

 

There you stood for a few minutes, the laughter gripping you, and then just as suddenly as it had come, the laughter died off, and you found yourselves staring in each other’s eyes. He moved forwards, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you gently. You pressed on his lips with your tongue, and there you stood for a few minutes, passionately making out under the soulless paper eyes of cutout Moses.

 

When you finally pulled away, neither of you could meet the other’s eye, both of you wiping away tears. You knew for certain, in that moment, that you were never going to kiss him again.  _ Fuck. _ You had really screwed the pooch on that one; you were trading a lifetime of Karkat’s plush rump and luscious lips for Vriska’s bony, cheating ass. Her lips weren’t even very soft, you thought vindictively.

 

Too late to back out now, though. And it wasn’t like you could talk, on the “cheating” front. It was the day of the wedding, less than an hour until showtime, and there you were, making the children’s Sunday school a little less godly. 

 

It all ended now.

 

“I guess we should, uh, go back, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” He hesitated, but nodded. “They need their groom. Good luck, okay?”

 

“That’s not what you say to someone getting married.”

 

“Other people aren’t getting married to freaks who murdered a girl in 8th grade.”

 

“That was  _ alleged  _ murder.”

 

“Well, I know for a fact that she did jail time for maiming Tavros.”

 

“Who cares--wait. She told me Tavros was her ex-boyfriend?”

 

“He was!”

 

You almost laughed at the mental image of Vriska as a literal black widow, but in the end, the joy wouldn’t quite come. For one thing, seeing as you were about to get married to her, you could quite feasibly be her next target. For another… 

 

You simply nodded, and Karkat nodded, and you didn’t even give him one more melancholy assgrab as you walked out the door.

 

When the two of you returned to the preparations, there was chaos.

 

Chaos in the form of a staggering, clearly drunk Vriska Serket lunging towards your cousin.

 

“ _ What the hell is this? _ ”

 

“Um, a cake?”

 

“No, you--you furry _ wolfgirl _ ! Why is  _ this  _ my  _ wedding cake _ ?”

 

“They didn’t have any chocolate, so I sprung for red velvet.” Jade shrugged, clearly not realizing the depth of the situation.

 

“It has the Muppets on it!” 

 

“They’re cute!”

 

“ _ I’ll kill you! _ ”

 

“Try me, crazy eights!”

 

Your cousin lept on your soon-to-be wife. It was all you could do to stand there in horror, stuck watching as the worst day of your life got that much shittier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that next week at this time, this fic will be over! It seems sort of like the end to an era... even if that era is only 10 weeks long. It'll be so weird to start thinking about a project that isn't covered in frosting and pink dildoes and an industrial size bag of glitter! Thank you to everyone who's given kudos up to this point!! It means so much.


	10. Chapter 10: Honestly You’re A Little Sad About Being Archie When Obviously Jughead Was The Cool One But We Can’t Always Choose Our Pop Culture References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The startling resolution that no one saw coming

Calling the absolute mad chaos that broke out a catfight would not do it justice. To call it a scuffle would be to demean it to the highest degree. The only proper way to describe the fight would be to call it a brawl, and as a brawl, it was the messiest, rowdiest one you had seen in years. In comparison, the disagreement that you had with Karkat was barely anything more than friendly jabs, or perhaps foreplay. When boys fought, they threw blind punches, awkwardly struggling until someone pulled them away. When girls fought, they awoke some primordial urges that would only pacified through the death of their opponent. 

 

You were beginning to understand where Karkat came from when he said the word “Girls” as if it was a curse, something that would summon them if pronounced out loud. Girls were the scariest species you had yet to encounter.

 

Claws out, Vriska and Jade fought like that for the next five minutes--you and Karkat could do nothing but watch helplessly, staring between the fight and one another in little short of absolute horror. Karkat’s face was frozen in abhorrence (you heard him mutter something like ‘ _ thank god I like guys _ ’ as a mantra under his breath), while many of your relatives and Vriska’s family members crowding around, looking various shades of amused and disgusted. You had to pull a double take whenever you saw Terezi taking bets, playing the crowd expertly, especially for someone who couldn’t see it. 

 

Your savior came in the form of you Great Uncle Jake, who finally stepped in the middle of the girls, parting the crowd of onlookers as paper cutout Moses might part a paper cutout red sea. He struck quite an impressive figure, crossing his arms and giving a look of Stern Fatherly (Grandfatherly?) disapproval towards Jade.

 

In an instant, she released her death grip on Vriska’s weave, looking a tad sheepish.

 

“Sorry Grandpa!”

 

“Don’t apologize to  _ me. _ Pay your dues to Vriska here, and all the people at this dandy party, young lady.”

 

She stuck out her bottom lip, and even though it was split and bloody, she managed to be the spitting image of a petulant child, refusing to repent for their crimes. “I don’t wanna.”

 

He quirked one eyebrow. In the back of the crowd somewhere, you heard the mangled screams of Terezi’s laughter. “One…”

 

Finally blushing with embarrassment, Jade threw in the towel. “Fine! Sorry, alright, I’ll do it! Look, Vriska,  _ sorry _ I got a really cute muppets cake for you. Sorry I practically single handedly saved your lame wedding. Sorry.”

 

Vriska studied your cousin disdainfully, sniffing with snotty indifference. Following that, she winced in an exaggerated fashion. Her nose was most probably broken. “Try not to be so careless next time, won’t you?”

 

For everyone else, that was apparently the end of the matter. 

 

The two girls seemed perfectly content to leave you nervously giggling about the tragic state of your wedding. You eyed your brides’ broken nose, her two black eyes (her right eye wasn’t opening at all, and you were tempted to give her your eyepatch), and the limp look that her right arm took on. You wondered if she could move it. Meanwhile, your best maid (as opposed to best man--you hadn’t been quite sure who to ask, and by the time you met Karkat, it was too late to claim backsies to Jade--as she had just demonstrated, a fight with her was not a fight you would win.) had a split lip trickling onto her sleeveless galaxy print dress and one of her glasses lenses had shattered.

 

Karkat still seemed shell shocked, muttering “girls” under his breath without end. You found the whole thing reminiscent of the old Archie comics you used to love, and patted his back in the most comforting way you knew how.

 

“I know, buddy. I know.”

 

As much as you wanted to stand there, playing the Archie to his Jughead, something called on your mind urgently. This really _ was _ like those old comics, but Karkat wasn’t Jughead. He was Betty, and you were about to marry Veronica. Everything was falling apart.

 

As everything came down around you, the wedding truly began. You made your way to the head of the room, standing by your father. The guests took their seats, and it was all you could do to tear your eyes away from Karkat when the organ began to play. 

 

Vriska was the last one to be dragged into place. Someone found her in the corner of the ladies room, slumped against the wall with a bottle of communion wine that no one was quite sure how she got. Even when her mother was called in to escort her to the ceremony, Vriska refused to release her hold on the bottle, and so everyone finally just decided that it would be easier to let her clutch the wine on the way to the altar. What the hell, said you. This wedding wasn’t going to get any tackier, was it?

 

After a long stretch of strife and heartache, there you stood, up with your father, legs shaking, pits sweating. A lot. Egbert senior kept giving you unsought looks of fatherly pride, which should have been reassuring, but were actually making you sick.

 

You glanced around. Your family was out there, grinning and hopeful. On Vriska’s side, only Terezi and their mother sat. Terezi wore a sharky grin, even if her head was pointed in the wrong direction. Serket senior, in her pirate’s coat and boots propped up on the chair in front of her, just looked bored.

 

But really, you hardly had eyes for any of them. As you scanned the crowd in what you hoped was an inconspicuous way, you had eyes for only one person: Karkat Vantas. He was sitting at the aisle, so you watched him, even as Vriska started to sway her way through her march, lurching dangerously and pausing so not to trip over completely in the tall orange heels that she had forced her feet into. She wore her limp right arm, double black eyes, and broken nose as proudly as she wore the awful dress that was so heavy with rhinestones that it had already begun its descent down her leopard print bra, which, of course, wasn’t strapless in the least, and as she swayed her way across the church, you kept your eyes off of her. Let everyone else stare at her. You had one last chance to stare at Karkat, one last moment of possibility before the rest of your life became one long “what might have been.” 

 

And so you stared.

 

You stared and you stared and you stared, until there he was, eyes looking back on yours. This was, you knew, your last moment. You smiled at him, and he gave you the smallest nod. Just like that, it was over. Everything was over.

 

Doom reached the altar in a sequined dress. You tore your eyes away from Karkat with a totally symbolic look--he must have caught the depth of your 9th grade English style symbolism, because he gave you the same one--and you glued your eyes to the skeletal, haggard figure of your wife.

 

Practically your wife, at least. You  _ were _ doing the ceremony.

 

Your father said his parts, and though you knew that this was the type of moment that you were supposed to remember forever and tell your (well, Vriska and Eridan’s) kid, Casey, about one day, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything but how you really regretted waiting until marriage to lose your virginity, because Karkat was so gentle, and you weren’t even sure if Vriska would fuck you, and even if she would, did you really  _ want _ her to?

 

These thoughts occupied your mind right up until the bit about “speak now or forever hold your peace,” where you were snapped back to reality by the small pause that your father gave. This was truly your last chance. The moment seemed eternal, and you ached to say something, but you had come so far, spent so much money, made so many promises. It’d be easier if someone else would leap up and end the wedding for you, but who? Karkat? Jade?

 

Your eyes met his in the audience, though, and he just gave you a small, defeated shake of the head, and you gave him a barely perceptible nod to match his from earlier. You were doing this. You were making this happen. 

 

Whether you liked it or not.

 

Your father got ready to continue the rest of the ceremony. To have and to hold. You wanted to cry, but you weren’t sure if you could easily pass them off as tears of joy. You said nothing. You did nothing.

 

Vriska, from where she swayed on her feet holding your hand in hers only because your father had told her to, still gripping the neck of the wine bottle in one hand, leaned towards you. At first you thought it was because she was losing her balance more and more with every sip of the church’s wine that she continued to guzzle, but then you realized that she was looking intently at your face.

 

“Hey John.”

 

“Shush! We’re at our wedding.”

 

“No, John John John. John. Johnny. John boy. Joooohn. John.”

 

“What!” You were about to flip your shit. That shit was going to absolutely skid off the handle, landing on its shitty face and leaving half of its internal organs on the pavement.

 

“Guess whaaaaaaaat.”

 

“What?”

 

“Guess.”

 

“Vriska, I--”

 

“You’re terrible at guessing. Has anyone ever told you? The answer,” she had a twinkle in her eye, as if she believed that she held all the keys, had all the irons in the fire, that she was in complete control of the situation and had insider knowledge that she would depart with no one. Except, perhaps, you.

 

Do you take this message?

 

Well, duh, you’re kind of curious now. Plus, if she’s going to talk during her own wedding, it better be for a good reason.

 

“The answer is that… _ wait for it _ … I’m no longer pregnant.”

 

“ _ What! _ ”

 

Everyone in the room stopped. Turned. Your father was cut off from his speech, and he raised his eyebrows at you. That had been… pretty loud. Whoops.

 

“Yes, that’s right!” Screeched Vriska, always the drama queen. “I just started the biggest,  _ bloodiest _ period of my life, and I’m officially free from this dump! You dragged me up to this stage anyway, but,” she burped. Classily. “I don’t have to be here! John owes me no favors! Everybody is just free as a damn bird. So if you don’t mind,” she pulled her hands out from yours, and stomped off the stage, taking a swig from the wine bottle as she went. “I think I’ll go celebrate in style!”

 

You almost didn’t want to say anything. Everyone in the room had matching faces, all frozen into states of what seemed like permanent disbelief. Nobody moved. Noone’s eyes were on you.

 

But something seemed too strange about the whole thing. “You--you never even took a pregnancy test? You convinced me to marry you and you just ASSUMED you were pregnant? Vriska, this isn’t Grease! You conniving bitch, you’re nowhere near as charming as Rizzo!”

 

She swung on one leg back to face you. Her face was slack with annoyance, and she was so obviously hammered it would almost be comical, had the scene not been taking place in front of your closest family members and friends. 

 

“John, it was a whole month past the point where my period was supposed to happen. I did the goddamn math, alright? It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist.”

 

“But you did the math wrong! And you’re--you’re walking out on your own wedding!”

 

“Oh, woe is you. You’ll get over it.” With that, she flipped the congregation the bird in the most dignified manner a drunk, beaten woman could while holding a wine bottle in the same hand she was using to make obscene gestures, and absconded right the fuck out the back doors.

 

It was all you could do to watch her go.

 

There were no words to describe how much you hated weddings. Especially, you now saw, your own.

For a few minutes after she left, no one moved a muscle. When the sense finally slipped back into a few varied heads, half followed Vriska outside, pulling her away from her car (which, really, she was far too drunk to drive, and the fact that she attempted to anyway absolutely boggled your mind) while the other half stayed and badgered you with so many questions that you felt like you were a particularly scandalized president at a press conference, explaining that no, you did NOT have sexual relations with that woman.

 

There was nothing like going over the same story 20 times to make you absolutely loathe the main antagonist.

 

When every last uncle, aunt, second cousin, or distant acquaintance you had finally heard the story (and pressed you on it in severe detail), you were finally, finally alone in the church, only Jade, your father, and Karkat still hanging around. The look your father gave you was one you couldn’t quite place; something between disapproval and complete confusion, but eventually he, too, shrugged his shoulders and gave up, ready to let the matter rest until another time. He knew, now, your story.

 

Well, most of it.

 

There was still one last matter, a huge chunk of the tale that you had yet to impose on the public. Truth be told, you had actually failed to hash it out with yourself. This was, naturally, the matter of Karkat Vantas.

 

That boy was an enigma wrapped inside a mystery shrouded in a goddamn metaphor, and you were trying to get to the bottom of it. Right now, all you could think to do was sit down in a pew next to him, hair flying every which way despite Jade’s impressive tries to keep it down, shirt partially untucked, looking as if a very specialized tornado hit you and you alone. You sighed. 

 

He seemed to understand the sentiment, and stared at you without speaking. There were no words.

 

Finally, when the energy to make two braincells rub together finally came to you again, you nudged him, and filled your face with the biggest, dorkiest grin you could muster. Not having the weight of a premature wedding weighing you down was the biggest pick-me-up you could imagine. You actually felt sort of like a college kid again.

 

Which you were.

 

“Hey Karkat.”

 

“...What?”

 

“I’m not getting married anymore.”

 

You saw the internal struggle in Karkat’s expression to keep a straight face. It was totally killing him to not break out in a goofy grin, you could tell. The goofy, smiley part that you believed lived beneath all grumpy assholes a la Karkat Vantas finally won, and he lit up the room with a radiance you had only imagined in your dirtiest of wet dreams--wait you mean daydreams.

 

Pulling him into a kiss was the easiest thing you had done that day, and even when Jade whipped out her phone and started taking pictures (or was it a video?) you found that you couldn’t care in the slightest.

  
  
  


Your name is John Egbert and you’re really trying not to shove your sexuality in anyone’s face or anything, honest, but every time you see your new boyfriend's, Karkat, you’re just compelled to--what? Ask him to take you in this very church that you stand in? Ask him to pretty please with a cherry on top kiss you in the sweetest way he knew how? Fall down on your hands and knees and beg him to suck your dick under the statue of Jesus Christ like you were in some sort of biblical porno?

 

Basically: Yes. To all of those things.

 

You contemplated going through with at least one of them as you swapped spit and swallowed tongue with your boyfriend. The scene in the church faded out, muppet wedding cake and all, until you two were the only ones in the room, the only ones who mattered.

  
You had never been so happy in your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow,,,, I can't believe it's over! It seems like this whole journey just started, and now after months of writing and editing and crying, that's it! It's been fun, guys. Seriously. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading the continued adventures of yours truly, I'll probably start a new project soon now that this mess is over. Probably. Be on the lookout! Thanks to everyone who supported this fic along the way!!!


End file.
